


A Man's Measure: The King's Grace

by sharehenstar



Series: A Man's Measure [8]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A Man's Measure #8, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And So is Camelot, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Awesome Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bromance to Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship(s), Epic Bromance, Episode: s04e12-13 The Sword in the Stone, F/M, FULL Magical Reveal, First Time Battle Couple Arthur/Merlin, Firsts, Literally Arthur is Going to Learn EVERYTHING, M/M, More Like a Partial Episode Rewrite, Not Quite an Episode Tag, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), They're Both Protective Idiots, Two Idiots Who Won't Admit Their Feelings, not so oblivious arthur, we all know where this is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharehenstar/pseuds/sharehenstar
Summary: Three years have passed since Merlin's partial reveal of his magic. On the eve of their assault on Helios and Morgana's forces, Emrys must finally reveal himself in full. Quite without his knowing, it alters the entire course of Camelot's future—as well as his own, with the Once and Future King…
Relationships: Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hints Of Gwen/Leon (Merlin), Isolde/Tristan (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Past Gwen/Arthur (Merlin)
Series: A Man's Measure [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/147504
Comments: 219
Kudos: 494





	1. The King's Grace (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> So it begins—finally. This first chapter went through at least 10 different drafts…before I finally settled on beginning it just the way I had planned in the first place ::face palm::. Just a head's up, this will be my longest AMM installment to date. As I said in Dragonlord's Son, this story is the heart of my entire series; it is the entire reason why I began writing my AMM series in the first place. Nearly five years ago (and several times since) I saw this episode—BBC Merlin's The Sword in the Stone—and went, "Huh. This would have made a fantastic magic reveal. Why didn't they do that?" (Of course, in successive viewings, it turned more into almost yelling it…) So, I conceived this series in attempt to lead up to that shatter point (a point wherein a possible future is altered). Granted, at that time, it was going to be the FIRST magic reveal, but five years on and well…let's just say my muse ran away from me ::sweat drop::. Just so you know, Merlin and Arthur's relationship undergoes a huge evolution in this story. I plan to keep it pretty ambiguous in this installment—that's one of my favorite types of relationships, after all!—but by the end, it will be pretty apparent just what direction their relationship is headed in...Please enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 1)**

Three years had passed since Merlin first revealed his powers to Arthur. Two (now three) major invasions and a mind-numbing array of magical incidents later, and they _still_ had not managed to just sit down and _talk_ about everything Merlin had done.

In Arthur's defense, it was never going to be any kind of easy, learning the true extent of Merlin's powers. Why should it be? Nothing about Merlin had ever been "simple" and Arthur supposed that was why he had been so inexplicably drawn to his beloved friend in the first place, despite the often-contentious nature of their early acquaintance.

When they had first agreed to this mutual silence it had been to protect Merlin from the then-still-alive Uther. After his father had passed, Arthur grew aware of _precisely_ how much Merlin had done—for Camelot, for _Arthur_.

To the young king's credit, once he knew how to look and what for…it became painfully obvious that the only reason Arthur still lived and Camelot still stood was because of Merlin: snakes exiting a shield, a whirlwind rising on a day when there _was_ no wind, undead mercenaries exploding where they stood, a suddenly heavy sword slipping easily from a formidable opponent's grasp during single combat…

Those weren't even _half_ of what he had "fathomed out," much less half of what Arthur felt _quite_ sure Merlin (and his powers) were responsible for preventing.

Gods, it wasn't like they hadn't _tried_ to discuss this: over the past year and a half both of them—at various points—had tried to broach the subject, only to be thwarted—by duty, by danger, by inconvenient timing…

Even as recently as several days ago, during Beltane, they had attempted to have this conversation, only to be interrupted by Morgana's invasion—and by then, they had slightly more pressing matters to handle:

_(Four Days Ago, Feast of Beltane)_

" _Where do we stand?" Gaius's question sliced through the muffled din of men's screams and clashing swords outside the barred doors of the king's chambers as he helped Merlin bind Arthur's cracked ribs, startling the four men with him._

_Percival frowned grimly at the oak door, likely contemplating how flimsy a barrier it would be against Morgana's Southron forces, "The citadel is overrun. We cannot hold out much longer."_

_Arthur hissed at the white-hot flash of pain that shot through his awareness as Merlin finished binding his ribcage. "I should be out there!"_

" _You should do no such thing!" his beloved manservant retorted hotly, yanking perhaps a bit more harshly at the bindings than the situation warranted (at least in Arthur's mind). "As it is, you already run the risk of puncturing a lung and I_ _ **can't**_ _-!"_

_He bit off the rest of his retort quite forcefully, but Arthur could finish it well enough on his own,_ _**-Can't use magic.** _

" _Merlin…" Arthur touched his best friend's chin, redirecting fierce, red-tinged blue eyes back to his own, but could not think of anything to say other than that, not in the presence of Gwaine and Percival._

_Gaius cleared his throat, effectively diverting all attention from the byplay between Merlin and Arthur. "How long until they reach us?"_

_Percival shook his head, eyeing Arthur worriedly, "Minutes only."_

_Merlin frowned, tying off the final bandage and leaving Gaius to check that they were secure, joining the knights at the door before Arthur could object. He just barely overheard his friend's murmur, "They'll kill Arthur if they find him."_

_He hissed as Gaius prodded at his ribs, the old physician scowling when Arthur all but keeled to one side. The king just barely caught the tail end of Percival's response, "—We must get him to safety while we still can."_

_There was a clatter of metal against flagstone and the door suddenly shuddered, metal hinges shrieking as someone outside tried to forcefully wrench it from the threshold._

_Merlin, Percival, and Gwaine lurched back, the shaggy-haired knight exhaling sharply through his nose, "We need to get him out of here. That door won't hold for long."_

_Arthur snarled, fighting against Gaius's hold and half-mad with pain, "If you think I'll abandon my people-!"_

_Then Merlin was suddenly_ _**there** _ _, all warm hands and dark midnight eyes as he hefted Arthur to his feet, "Barricade the doors," he shot over his shoulder, yanking the king into his arms. "Give us as much time as you can."_

_Then Merlin was half-dragging, half-carrying Arthur towards the servants' entrance, Gaius on his heels._

_(End Flashback)_

IOIOIOIOIOI

They had been forced to leave behind Gwaine and Gaius in the castle, Elyan and Percival in the forest; he had _no idea_ how Leon, Bors, or any of the other knights fared, never mind his _subjects_ …

Now they were on the run…from Agravaine.

The uncle who—despite Merlin's misgivings—Arthur had held out hope might be the _one_ relative whose motives he did not have to question.

He pressed his eyes shut against their burning, following blindly on Merlin's heels as his manservant led their company deeper into the cave tunnels surrounding Ealdor.

Arthur had been _such a fool_ to doubt Merlin's word that Agravaine had come to Camelot with less-than-altruistic intentions. He had been _so_ newly instated as king, _so_ desperate for someone experienced to advise him on how to run a kingdom, that he had trusted blindly to Agravaine's supposed love for his sister—Arthur's mother.

He should have known better. After all, when had Merlin _ever_ been wrong about something like this?

Quite aside from his beloved friend's typically keen intuition, _Arthur_ should have sensed something amiss long before Agravaine accompanied Morgana through Camelot's gates.

(Supporting Guinevere's banishment? Attacking Gaius? _These_ weren't things a loving relative did…)

Despite Merlin's reassurance in the forest, Arthur felt _sure_ that if he had been more cautious when welcoming Agravaine to his court, more trusting of the evidence his eyes had seen, if he had just _listened_ to Merlin, as he had known in his heart that he _should_ …then perhaps Camelot would not have fallen so easily.

(It really hadn't, but only Merlin seemed to think so.)

Now his knights were scattered—worse, captured or dead; Ealdor was _burning_ …and anyone he had ever cared about in any way was in danger: Gaius, Guinevere, Leon and the other Knights of the Round Table, Hunith—

-Merlin, who jerked to a halt so abruptly that Arthur nearly crashed into his back.

"Merlin-" Arthur began, exasperated.

" _Shh_ ," Merlin hushed him, waving the king quiet with his free hand.

Arthur frowned, feeling Guinevere, Tristan, and Isolde come to a halt behind him.

"What is it?" he murmured, stepping close enough to Merlin that his shoulder brushed against his best friend's.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut.

Behind them, further down the corridor, Arthur heard pebbles shift and boots scrape along stone.

Merlin hissed, his eyes flashing open and bleeding gold as they shot to Arthur's, "Agravaine. He's found us."

The flickering torchlight concealed Merlin's irises from the three companions who followed them, but Arthur—after three years and a partial magic reveal—knew exactly what the warlock had accomplished in those precious few seconds prior to this conversation. He cursed, "…I thought you said we lost them!"

Merlin's lips pressed into a thin line, "I thought we had."

"It won't take long for them to catch us, you know," Tristan's voice snapped them out of their staring match. When Arthur and Merlin turned, it was to find the smuggler had leaned both himself and Isolde up against the rock wall of tunnel, arms tight around his lover.

Guinevere stood beside the female smuggler on the side opposite to Tristan, murmuring soothingly to the woman, who had squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her arms protectively around her lower torso, as she checked Merlin's makeshift bandage.

"I'll go back."

Arthur snapped his eyes up, his gaze locking on Merlin's at that pronouncement, " _What_?" he demanded.

Merlin looked far _less_ surprised than Tristan, whose eyebrows jumped to his hairline at the faint rasp that leaked into Arthur's voice, despite the king's best attempt to suppress it.

In response, his beloved manservant squared his shoulders and set his jaw, "You heard me. We _don't_ have time to argue, Arthur!"

It was true. Already the king could hear the clatter of chain mail and thud of rushing footsteps along one of the adjoining corridors.

Of course, that did not stop Arthur from trying to argue, anyway: "You _can't_ ," he snarled, lunging forward grab Merlin by his jerkin as his best friend turned in preparation to run. "It's too dangerous!"

" _Arthur_ …" Merlin shook his head, reaching out to try and gently pry Arthur's fingers from the leather of the jerkin. "I know these tunnels and Agravaine doesn't. Tristan's right—you need to keep going."

Arthur growled and attempted to dodge his best friend's hands, locking his fingers in the jerkin's worn ties—and, consequently, the delicate lump of metal _beneath_ those ties.

"Not without you," the refusal came out less growl and more desperate. His fingers tightened around the hidden merlin pendant against his manservant's heart.

Merlin released a soft sigh, reaching up in attempt to pry them off again, "Arthur—"

At that moment, the very distinct scrape of a sword against stone only one corridor over caused all five of them to jump.

Isolde lurched up from the wall. Guinevere gasped, attempting to steady her. And Tristan whirled around to face the threshold of the tunnel, face set in a desperate snarl.

Arthur used the silver chain of Merlin's necklace to yank his manservant forward and press his forehead bruisingly tight against the younger man's collarbone. He felt Merlin release a _whuff_ of air and only just manage to keep ahold of the torch, "Don't… _Don't_ do anything stupid," he breathed desperately into the crook of his beloved friend's neck.

Merlin's free palm slid across the nape of Arthur's neck, warm against his skin when he rested it there. It squeezed once, twice, and Arthur pulled back, rubbing his thumb along the miniature links of silver one last time before his hand fell to the side.

Merlin smirked weakly at him, "Who? Me? When have I ever?"

It was clearly a tease meant to reassure Arthur, but the king was not sure the pain in his eyes allowed it. Without a word, he took the torch from Merlin's hand and glanced away, the muscles of his jaw locked so tightly against the words that wanted to burst out that his teeth ached.

Briefly, he felt Merlin press his fingers against Arthur's before he heard his manservant's boots patter away.

He turned his head then and watched, his stare burning into his best friend's back long after the other man had left his sight.

Tristan's shoulder jostled Arthur's a moment later as he shoved past him, supporting Isolde, "Let's go," he muttered gruffly, "We don't want to waste the opportunity he's given us."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, still able to hear Merlin's footsteps faintly as they rushed down the corridor opposite them.

A warm, work-roughened palm touched his arm, "Arthur?" Guinevere murmured tenderly.

Arthur's blue eyes snapped open to lock on her own brown ones. "I can't leave him, Gwen," he ground out harshly, "I _can't_. I'm going after him."

"Arthur—" Guinevere's objection went unheard as he brushed her off and stepped away.

Tristan stared at him, where he and Isolde had paused upon hearing their argument, "He knows these tunnels—he said so himself. He'll find his way. _We have to go_ -!"

Arthur shoved away the hand the smuggler reached towards him, "I don't care. I'm going back."

"You _ass_ —" Tristan bit out, but Arthur ignored him, pushing the torch into Guinevere's hand.

He only barely heard the smuggler's snort of disbelief as he rushed back down the tunnel, "For a _servant_?"

And, even fainter, Guinevere's response, "Not only for _a_ servant…For Merlin."

_TBC_


	2. The King's Grace (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin confronts Agravaine. He should have expected that nothing would go exactly as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I think I like this chapter a lot (especially the ending!). That is the advantage of having an outline from the get-go, you already have a fairly solid idea of where you want to go with your story. We get to see a little bit—just a hint—of BAMF!Merlin here (and I should probably add BAMF!Arthur to that mix, as well—you'll see why ::winks::), but more of that is coming later on. For right now, I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
> 
> One last additional note, this chapter is dedicated to both BlackSky83 and GhostN27 because their comments on AO3 gave me a little bit of inspiration for two scenes to include in here ;).

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 2)**

It had been a long three years. Of course, Merlin had never expected it to be easy, on those bleak nights he had dared entertain the thought of sharing his magic's true extent with Arthur.

It was maddening, knowing that Arthur knew what he _had_ , but being unable to share anything of what he had _done_. It was not that he wanted recognition—somewhat bewilderingly, he had recognition in _plenty_ from Arthur, simply by virtue of being the king's best friend.

What he _wanted_ was Arthur to know him simply and wholly, with no secrets left between them. He could handle Camelot, even Gwen and the Knights of the Round Table, not knowing just fine. But with Arthur—

They had tried to talk. _Gods_ , had they tried. But there was always another monster or another council meeting or another treaty to be signed…

Then Morgana had attacked— _again_ —and Merlin had to make sure Arthur did not try to _kill_ himself in a reckless attempt to confront Heilos, Morgana, or _Agravaine_ —

_(Nine Months Ago)_

" _My uncle arrives tomorrow morning," Arthur's soft remark caught Merlin off-guard, causing his hand to jerk and spill a bit of the porridge he had been dishing out for their morning meal._

" _ **What**_ _?" he managed, sloppily wiping up the spill with a cloth napkin as his mind instantly sped through all the accommodations such a high ranking guest would require, as he had begun to take on that duty as the Regent's manservant in the absence of a queen. "You couldn't have given me a little more_ _ **warning**_ _, Arthur?"_

 _At least the Crown Prince had the good sense to look sheepish. "I…ah…forgot? Besides, I only just found out myself yesterday evening,_ _**Mer** _ _lin."_

 _Arthur's voice held an ill-concealed note of longing that had Merlin glancing at him sharply, "And who is this uncle, Arthur? I thought your father_ _**had** _ _no living relatives left."_

" _He doesn't," Arthur's cheeks slowly colored red, "but my…my mother does…"_

 _Well, that explained the note of longing Merlin had heard. Gods, could Arthur make it any more_ _**difficult** _ _for Merlin to voice his concerns?_

" _Arthur," he stated cautiously, carefully setting down the larger bowl of porridge and instead picking up the pitcher of cream to pour it into Arthur's bowl, "the last time anyone from your mother's family appeared, he was a_ _ **specter**_ _whom Nimueh raised from the_ _ **dead**_ _, and he wanted_ _ **revenge**_ _on_ _ **Uther**_ _. You'll forgive me if I am a little wary about welcoming anyone else from her family to court—"_

_Arthur frowned at him—although whether it was for the fact that Merlin was serving him in the privacy of the Crown Prince's chambers or for what he was implying about his best friend's uncle, Merlin did not know._

_Certainly, Arthur's hand gently clamped down on his wrist as Merlin set the pitcher of cream back down on the table, effectively preventing him from reaching for the honey, which the manservant had been preparing to pick up next. The prince's booted foot also kicked out a second chair, a pointed command to_ _**sit** _ _._

_Tentatively, Merlin sat, still unused to eating his morning meal with Arthur. Or being relied on so heavily for advice, for that matter._

_The Crown Prince's frown had turned thoughtful when Merlin unsurely glanced up at him, and his voice held a soft quality to it that meant he genuinely wanted an answer to his next question, "Do you honestly think my mother's_ _**entire** _ _family could want revenge?"_

 _Merlin swallowed, conscious of the fact that his word somehow held_ _**more** _ _weight than it had even when Arthur had been_ _**just** _ _the Crown Prince, and not Regent over the entirety of Camelot: "All I know is that your mother's family hasn't been particularly forgiving in the past, and it seems awfully convenient that just as your father has fallen…ill, your uncle suddenly decides he wants to be part of your—of_ _**Camelot's** _ _court."_

_Arthur released Merlin's wrist and steepled his fingers, leaning his chin on them as he contemplated the fire across the room._

_Merlin was gratified to note the furrow of his brow, which meant that his best friend was sincerely considering his advice._

_At last, Arthur sighed, "…Would it make any difference if I said he promised my mother that he'd…he'd be there for me, if I ever needed him?"_

" _That's assuming he just hasn't made it up, in attempt to get into your good graces," Merlin sighed. "And if he honestly meant it…why now? Why suddenly tell you that…when he could have_ _ **been**_ _telling you that for years? You've never mentioned him before, you know—"_

_Arthur shrugged uncomfortably, his gaze not wavering from the fire, "He was never…interested, I think, before now."_

_Merlin gazed at him askance, vague suspicion and unease suddenly swelling into something substantial, "_ _**Arthur** _ _…and you never questioned_ _**why** _ _he's suddenly so interested?"_

_Arthur shrugged again, leaning back in his chair, and diverted his eyes to stare into the depths of his porridge._

_Merlin frowned. "This isn't just about your mother," stated with abrupt certainty._

_Arthur flushed, but did not deny it._

_Merlin's frown deepened. Reaching out, he lightly brushed the knuckles of Arthur's left hand, where his beloved friend's fingers tapped nervously against the table. "_ _**Arthur** _ _," he prompted._

 _Arthur released a gusty breath and brushed him off, abruptly surging to his feet, "I don't know what I am_ _**doing** _ _,_ _**Mer** _ _lin!" he snapped. "How can I be sure I am not leading Camelot to_ _**ruin** _ _? I-I always expected my father would be there to…to_ _**advise** _ _me, and now he's just…_ _**not** _ _-!"_

 _His best friend looked so helpless and heartbroken as he struggled to give voice to an explanation for his father's condition that Merlin felt his_ _**own** _ _heart break a little._

 _But Arthur was now ranting, pacing back and forth across the floor of his bedchamber, so Merlin could do nothing but sit back and listen, "—And I know I have you, and Guinevere, and Gaius, and the Knights…but none of you have ever run a_ _**kingdom** _ _before, and I…I need someone with experience to reassure me that I am not making some dreadful_ _**mistake** _ _…who can tell me if I am doing something_ _**wrong** _ _-!"_

" _And I_ _ **don't**_ _?" Merlin could not help interjecting, rising to his feet, and trying to suppress the sharp flash of hurt he felt at Arthur's apparent lack of confidence in his counsel. "Arthur-!"_

 _Arthur must have still detected something, however, because all at once a dismayed expression stole across his face and he somehow ended up_ _**right in front of Merlin** _ _, who felt all the air gust out of his lungs at the Crown Prince's sudden, close proximity and the too-blue eyes pinning him in place, "_ _**Of course** _ _you do,_ _**Mer** _ _lin. Gods, you won't_ _**shut up** _ _when I've done something wrong…! But I…I can't pile even_ _**more** _ _on your shoulders. I've piled too much there_ _**as it is** _ _-!"_

 _Merlin inhaled sharply when a callused thumb swept over the bags he_ _**knew** _ _were under his own eyes, but he still mustered enough self-discipline to glance up at Arthur and meet his beloved friend's eyes, "I am not fragile, my King," stated evenly._

 _Arthur's breathing hitched, "_ _**Mer** _ _lin…I-I'm not—"_

" _You are to_ _ **me**_ _."_

_Really, that was all Merlin could say before he found himself swept up into a hug so tight that it made him squawk._

"… _I think you bruised my ribs," he gasped, when Arthur finally set him back on his feet._

 _His best friend snorted, a little thick, as he watched him gingerly prod at the ribs in question, "Shut up,_ _**Mer** _ _lin…"_

_(End Flashback)_

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin had not had the heart to press the issue after that. He had only brought it up again once, when Agravaine accused Gaius of treason.

To Arthur's credit, he heard out Merlin's warning; he even thoroughly questioned Agravaine on the matter, not honestly believing _himself_ that Gaius could be a traitor. But Agravaine was a slick operator, and although Arthur had prevented him from executing or banishing the old physician, Agravaine had thoroughly integrated himself into Arthur's graces by that point, causing Merlin to find himself fighting a losing battle.

It still hurt a little that, in the end, Arthur had not listened to Merlin.

Then, as now (and many times since), Merlin regretted not pushing the issue more. Perhaps Camelot would not have fallen, had he done so.

_Arthur would have believed me…eventually._

The warlock could not afford to lose himself in "what-ifs" right now, though: every moment he wallowed in self-pity, Agravaine and his mercenaries drew closer. He could hear at least three sets of boots and knew that guaranteed at least three sets of weapons.

He could take on all three (and more), if needed, but he much preferred facing only one.

Because of Arthur's attachment to the man, that one was going to be Agravaine. With luck he would only need to apprehend the lord, not kill him.

It was easy enough to take out the Southrons: as they pelted around the corner of the tunnel ahead of Agravaine, Merlin's eyes flashed gold. He dashed one against the rock wall and swept the other up in a whirlwind not unlike the one he had produced here so long ago, when they were fighting Kanen.

The one he had dashed against the rocks landed awkwardly, groaning. The other he tossed fifteen feet past a startled Agravaine, who cursed and halted in his tracks, staring after his man in disbelief. The mercenary slammed into rocky floor with a sickening crunch that told Merlin that particular Southron would not be following them any time soon.

A third flash of his eyes sent Agravaine tripping forward.

As the man stumbled directly in front of him with yet another surprised curse, Merlin calmly stepped around the corner. "Hello, Agravaine," he greeted evenly, lifting his chin.

Shocked, the man straightened, "Merlin?" a sneer covered his face, "Merlin. Where's Arthur?"

Merlin shook his head. Wrapping his arms around himself might make him appear vulnerable, but he was really checking to make sure he had his daggers in hand, "Be careful."

He may not want to hurt the man, but he was not foolish or naïve enough to think Agravaine would refuse to attack _him_.

At least for the moment, attack seemed to be the last thing on the lord's mind. The man's brow furrowed in confusion, "What are you talking about? Where's Arthur?"

Merlin would have liked to think Agravaine genuinely cared about Arthur in some capacity, misplaced though that affection might be, but even _he_ could not quite believe it himself.

"If I knew," the warlock smirked at the scowl that began to twist Agravaine's features, "do you _really_ think I would tell _you_?"

A full scowl split the man's face and he stalked forward, gloved hand fisting at his side, "This is _ridiculous_. I refuse to stand about bandying words with a _half-wit_. Tell me where Arthur is. _Now_. Or I'll have to kill you."

 _Oh, like you haven't tried_ _**that** _ _already…_

Merlin snorted, not intimidated in the least, "No, I really don't think I will—"

That was, until Agravaine's fist reared back and almost struck him.

Merlin reacted on instinct: his eyes flashed gold and, abruptly, he found himself with his daggers interlocked with Agravaine's sword.

The man's face reflected his disbelief, "You have magic," he breathed. The lord whirled away, settling into a ready stance, but clearly wrong-footed.

Which Merlin probably should have pressed to his advantage, but he, too, was wrong-footed. He had not intended to reveal his magic to Agravaine (and, in fact, Arthur had insisted he not). "I…was born with it."

To his utter surprise, Agravaine lowered his sword, "It's you. You're Emrys."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, lowering his daggers, but refusing to sheath them. If he could keep Agravaine talking…"That is what the Druids call me."

Agravaine snorted out what might have been a laugh, letting his grip on the hilt of his sword go lax, "And you've been at court this entire time, by Arthur's side." The lord chuckled, "My, how you have managed to deceive him! I am impressed, Emrys."

Merlin watched him impassively, ignoring the shudder the lord's words evoked at his core. Arthur might know about his powers now and, for some incomprehensible reason, have forgiven him his deception, but the fact remained that he _had_ deceived Arthur. _Was_ deceiving him, even now.

 _If we could only have that thrice-damned_ _**conversation** _ _…!_

But to do that, he needed to defeat Agravaine first, and the man was _still talking_ , "…Perhaps we're more alike than you think. What say you? Will you join us?"

Merlin stared at the man as he held out his free hand to him.

 _Gods, Agravaine is even more of a fool than I_ _**thought** _ _!_

With as much venom as he could muster, Merlin spat on the floor at Agravaine's feet, "Does that tell you?"

It was a very clear answer, and Agravaine calmly side-stepped the mess, easily bringing his hand back up to the sword's hilt, "Well, if we're going to do this the _hard_ way—"

Merlin did not deign to reply, instead tightening his grip on the hilts of his own daggers and settling into a ready stance.

Agravaine smirked, swinging his sword up into position, "Ah…Camelot's famous Lady Hawk. I should have known you would never betray Arthur. Very well… _let's do this, boy_!"

It should have been simple enough. Arthur had trained Merlin exceedingly well in the art of weaponry, and now, with the added advantage of the skills he had learned from Sir Bors…it really should have been no contest.

But Arthur had never truly been comfortable leaving Merlin on his own to face an enemy, so the warlock should have expected his best friend would follow him, personal safety and Camelot's future be damned.

Certainly, it was the reason why—halfway through his first lunge at Agravaine—he suddenly heard an all-too-familiar cry float up the corridor behind him.

Merlin jerked, twisting around in mid-stance. He landed awkwardly, knee wrenching as he stumbled forward into the hall he had just left, absolutely horrified to discover a not-so-unconscious Southron at hammer-and-tongs with—

" _Arthur_!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin should have known better than to let himself get distracted.

Before he had even finished his shout, he choked on it, dropping his daggers, and clawed at the silver chain that abruptly—and harshly—cut off his air supply.

His knees buckled. Agravaine used the chokehold he had on Merlin's necklace to yank him backwards. A broad, armor-clad shoulder rammed into the warlock's solar plexus and Merlin crumpled again, utterly unable to breathe.

Dimly, he thought he heard Arthur screaming for him, but by then he had been slammed into the tunnel wall, and the back of his head and neck cracked painfully against the rough-hewn rock. Against the nape of his neck, Merlin felt a very distinct _snap_ and heard the clatter of metal against stone as his broken necklace tumbled to the ground.

A gloved hand snapped back his head as it struck him across his face, the metal-studded leather splitting his lip. Merlin turned his face aside and spat out the blood that had dribbled into his mouth, but lifted his chin defiantly, refusing to give in to the fire inflaming the entire right side of his face or the black spots dancing in his vision.

Agravaine smirked, sword raised in preparation to strike, "Last chance. Are you _sure_ you won't join us?"

"What do _you_ think?" Merlin snarled, as the blade descended.

Instead of black—and pain—there was a sudden _crack_. Arthur's blade intersected with Agravaine's own, the Once and Future King shoving his uncle back as the startled man struggled to regain his footing.

His face deadly white, the king shifted until he stood directly between Merlin and Agravaine, all but shielding the warlock with his body: "Touch him again," Arthur hissed, "and I will see you _dead_ , Uncle."

_TBC_


	3. The King's Grace (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur confronts Agravaine. It threatens to undo everything he and Merlin have grown to be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The roulette of multiple drafts of single chapters and scenes begins again ::face palm::. I may end up tweaking this chapter yet again at a later date, but for the moment, I am pretty happy with the way it turned out. We'll see if it stays that way ::sweat drop::. I will probably not be updating as frequently as I did this spring and summer; I am a teacher, and whatever anyone tells you, virtual learning is far more work, in some ways, than in-person learning. We'll hang in there, though. Please enjoy this little break from the "daily grind"!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 3)**

"Arthur…" Agravaine stammered, stumbling backwards to put space between himself and the infuriated king. "I…he's…"

" _Yes_ , Uncle?" Arthur asked tightly, adjusting his stance so he settled more firmly between the man in front of him and the man behind him. "He's what?"

"He's a _sorcerer_!" Agravaine burst out furiously, although it was clear he was scrambling to provide an explanation for the brutality he had employed against Merlin.

A pity Arthur had already seen him with Morgana.

"As a man who aligned himself with a _High Priestess_ ," Arthur observed tightly, whirling to his left to deliver a ferocious, two-handed side strike, "I am not sure you are in a position to object, _Uncle_."

"A sorceress _killed_ your mother!" Agravaine snarled angrily, blocking the strike with his own sword and staggering sideways from the unexpected force.

Arthur's blade easily knocked Agravaine's aside. "And yet you _still_ allied yourself with Morgana. I am not sure I find your reasoning sound, Uncle."

Pressing his advantage while he still had his uncle on the defensive, Arthur slashed first to the right and then to the left, forcing the older man to hastily retreat as he tried to block both blows.

"She's your _sister_ ," Agravaine brought out desperately, swinging wildly at Arthur. "Your father treated her _abominably_!"

Arthur effortlessly side-stepped the intended blow, causing his uncle to stumble forward as he lost his balance. Having learned early on from Merlin that physical attacks could sometimes prove just as effective as using a sword, the king lashed out at Agravaine's side with a booted foot.

It caught the older man unawares in his side, forcing him to stagger back against the rock wall behind him, which had been Arthur's intention all along.

"You think I don't _know_ that?" the king demanded, bring his sword up to level a strike at Agravaine's neck. "I've known it _all along_ , even _before_ I knew she was my sister!"

Despite having wrapped one arm around his most-likely-bruised ribs, his uncle still managed to keep hold of his sword, flashing it up in an overhand block that locked powerfully with Arthur's own.

"He was _disloyal_ to Ygraine," the older man forced out around gritted teeth. "He as good as _murdered_ her when he made a pact with Nimueh!"

Arthur—who had been pivoting to follow up his previous strike with an elbow to Agravaine's gut—now froze, drawing himself back sharply.

" _What_?" he breathed in horror.

_But Merlin said…Merlin_ _**told** _ _me-!_

Agravaine took advantage of Arthur's distraction.

Galvanized into action, the older lord knocked the king's sword arm wide, in that same motion grabbing it to lever himself up off the rocky wall and swinging Arthur _into_ it.

Crying out as his own, still-tender side collided with sharp stone, Arthur crumpled against the wall, tenaciously clinging to his sword's hilt.

"So heartbreaking, really," Agravaine mocked would-be sadly as he gained a second wind, "Nimueh warned him there might be a price to pay. The Old Religion demands balance, of course. But well…needs must. What is a wife, after all…compared to a future king?"

" _Stop_ ," Arthur whispered, horrified, squeezing his eyes shut. His grip on the sword's pommel wavered.

Agravaine saw his chance and exploited it ruthlessly: "You _honestly_ thought your father was unaware of the price?" the older man laughed harshly, cracking his blade against Arthur's gauntlet and causing the king to cry out, his grip on the sword loosening, "I assure you, nephew…your father was _quite_ aware of the consequences."

"You're lying," stated desperately, as Arthur attempted to strengthen his sweaty grasp on the hilt. "You _have_ to be. Father would _never_ -!"

_**Merlin** _ _would never…not about as something as important as this…!_

"Oh, _am_ I?" Agravaine's eyes glittered maliciously as he managed to knock Arthur's sword out of his hand and send it skittering across the tunnel floor. "You have no proof, do you? So you'll forgive me, _nephew_ , if I eliminate a magical _abomination_."

Whether he meant Arthur or Merlin, the king never did find out, and it did not matter in the long run.

Almost as soon as Agravaine raised his sword to strike Arthur dead, blue-tinged gold fire hurtled into Agravaine's side, slamming him into the wall.

Just as the light began to fade from his uncle's eyes, Arthur felt a slender hand wrap firmly around his bicep and heft him to his feet.

"Funnily enough, Uncle," Arthur remarked tightly, as Merlin steadied him, his words the last Agravaine would ever hear, " _I_ am nothing like my father."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur turned away, rather than watch his uncle die. When the man breathed his last, the young king released a shuddering sigh, bending down to gently shut his lifeless eyes.

As he stood back up, hissing at the slight pull on his bruised side, one of Merlin's arms wrapped around his lower back, his shoulder coming up beneath Arthur's, despite his best friend being a hand's span taller than he.

A hand lifted to gently brush back his hair, and Arthur winced as Merlin carefully removed the sweat-matted strands that had stuck to the cut he had acquired in his fight with the Southron.

"Are you…will you be all right?" Merlin murmured at last.

Arthur heard the fading hoarseness to his voice and flicked his eyes over the bruised countenance that watched him, colored with concern.

"Oughtn't I be asking _you_ that?" Arthur retorted.

Merlin winced as his gloved thumb settled against the younger man's split lip. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Arthur snapped, far more harshly than he had intended.

Merlin drew back, eyes wide. "Arthur…?" asked cautiously.

The king snarled, yanking his hand away and roughly shrugging off his manservant's arm, "What the _hell_ were you _thinking_?"

Merlin's breathing hitched. "I was thinking I needed to _protect_ you-!"

Arthur lashed out, "He nearly _killed_ you! _You_ killed _him…_!"

"And _he_ quite happily would have killed _you_!" Merlin hissed. "I _did_ warn him, Arthur, don't think for a moment I did not! I am not _that_ much of a monster!"

"I _never_ said you were a monster-!"

"You as good as _implied_ it!" Merlin snapped, shoving at Arthur's chest as the king went to grab him, noting the agitation with which his manservant moved.

It was not a good idea, when the younger man's entire back had to be one big bruise.

Sure enough, Merlin grimaced and aborted the motion, nearly toppling over, undoubtedly the worse off of the two.

Arthur caught him and his beloved manservant glanced up, a furious retort on his lips.

When he realized a faint sheen of tears lined his best friend's cheeks, Arthur's stomach dropped, his frustration and anger quite effectively doused.

"…Sorry," he whispered, burying his apology in the dark strands of hair against his lips.

Merlin wavered one single instant, before finally slumping in Arthur's arms.

Arthur slid them down the wall at his back, ignoring the ache in his own body, and settled Merlin between his legs, arms locked behind his beloved friend's back and in no hurry to release him anytime soon.

Merlin curled up against him and Arthur tilted his head back to rest against the stone behind them, shutting his eyes as he let the final ringing echoes of their fight with Agravaine fade into nonexistence.

As silence engulfed them, the king gradually became aware that Merlin was shivering in his arms, his best friend's body trembling as the adrenaline from the fight gradually began to wear off and the ache of his injuries began to set in.

Leaning down, he tucked a few black strands behind Merlin's ear and murmured, pressing the words against his friend's jaw, "Can you heal yourself?"

Merlin snorted softly, slipping out of Arthur's arms to sit back on his heels, even as his fingers remained locked in the king's chain mail, "There's not much that needs healing."

Arthur shot him a sharp look, "My uncle practically _throttled_ you, Merlin! He _threw_ you into a _wall_ -! You surely must have a concussion at the very _least_ …!"

Merlin rolled his eyes and ignored the wince his action elicited, releasing one hand to tap a finger against the armor he wore and the quilted fabric up against his neck, "Gambeson and chain mail, remember?"

Arthur must not have looked convinced, because Merlin half-smirked at him, "…And I may have laid down a spell of healing before I attacked Agravaine."

At the mention of his now-deceased uncle, Arthur tensed, remembering the stream of almost-blue fire that had so easily ended the man's life.

If he had ever once imagined Merlin might be that powerful—

_**(A Few Days Ago, Siege of Camelot)** _

"… _I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Why_ _ **did**_ _I let you talk me into this?"_

_Arthur's ire was cut rather short by the sweat beading his brow and the stark paleness of his skin. He tried not to clamp down on his injured ribs…but also couldn't_ _**not** _ _, bent double in a way that boded ill for the rest of their journey to the borders if more drastic steps were not taken to alleviate the injury._

_Merlin had sat him down on a flat boulder just on the outskirts of the woods hemming in Camelot, Percival and Elyan gone to scout the surrounding forest, as the four of them sought a moment's respite from their pursuers...mostly for Arthur, who had begun to lag further and further behind as they fled from the postern gate._

_None of the four mentioned that they knew the king's injury was not the only reason Arthur could hardly bear to run: in the foreground, Camelot burned, glowing a harsh orange against the night sky as it was ravaged by Morgana's and Heilos's forces._

_Merlin's face hazed into focus between Arthur and the unwavering image of his beloved city burning, dirty with soot and streaked by tears they both knew he'd shed as they fled their home. Arthur could not be arsed to care that his own countenance probably looked much the same._

"… _Because you didn't have a_ _ **choice**_ _?" Merlin's clipped retort was made ragged by smoke and stress. His eyes were the same color as the flames consuming Camelot, if not a bit more gold._

… _And just as Arthur realized what that meant, he inhaled sharply, ribs contracting painfully with the action, as Merlin tugged the bandages around them more forcibly into place. "_ _ **Mer**_ _lin…!" he snarled._

_Merlin merely glared, his eyes bleeding gold, as he raised his head._

_Before Arthur could light into him, Percival and Elyan raced out into their clearing from two different directions:_

" _Hoofbeats…!" the darker-skinned knight panted._

_At the same time, Percival rapped out, "They're coming after us. Morgana knows Arthur is alive!"_

_Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm and hauled him to his feet, despite the king's vociferous protests, "I **can**_ _walk_ _…! I am perfectly_ _**fine** _ _…!_ _**Mer** _ _lin-!"_

" _ **Shut up**_ _, Arthur!" Merlin snarled, dragging him off the rock and out of the clearing. "If you can't shut up for_ _ **one second**_ _, so help me I'll-!"_

_Because Percival and Elyan were with them and, indeed, because Percival had grabbed him from the other side, despite his rapidly reknitting ribs (and maybe_ _**because** _ _of those, too), Arthur bit back a snide remark about what_ _**he** _ _would do if Merlin so much as_ _**thought** _ _of using his magic on him_ _again_ _—_

_**(End Flashback)** _

-Merlin who, at that moment, read the emotions on his face before Arthur had the chance to wipe them off (not that he'd ever exactly _succeeded_ in hiding such things from the man) and withdrew his hands from where they had been clenched in Arthur's chain mail, hugging them beneath his arms.

"You already knew about my powers," remarked lowly and not-quite-an-accusation.

"Not that you had the ability to _fry_ a man where he _stands_ , _Mer_ lin! Not that you can command your daggers to do your every bid and _whim_! Not that you could—" Arthur's breathing hitched, as he was abruptly reminded of _why_ Merlin had hidden all of this, Uther's magic ban aside.

_Gods, how can I_ _**ever** _ _ask him to forgive me after this?_

He should have realized anger would be the _furthest_ thing from Merlin's heart:

"Would you turn me away, then, my Liege?" the rawness of Merlin's voice snapped Arthur out of his stupor and produced a low curse as he took note of the sheer _heartbreak_ and _betrayal_ that adorned his beloved friend's face.

" _Gods_ , you idiot, _no_!" horrified, Arthur grabbed the collar of Merlin's gambeson and yanked him forward, crushing his best friend in his arms. "I would _never_ -!"

Strangled laughter burst out of Merlin as Arthur bundled him close, and he clung white-knuckled to the older man's chest.

"You _idiot_ ," Arthur murmured again, fervent, and heartfelt. "How could you ever believe I would _hate_ you?"

… _When you are what makes me whole._

IOIOIOIOIOI

It took Arthur a long time to release Merlin. As ever, though, the press of duty eventually became too insistent to ignore.

"W-We should go," Arthur's whisper emerged muffled from Merlin's neck. If the skin there felt damp—and if Arthur's own neck had been disinclined to remain dry—neither king nor warlock mentioned it. "The others are waiting."

Merlin nodded reluctantly, shifting back to extricate himself from Arthur's arms.

"I'll get your sword—" he began to rise.

Arthur was not quite ready to let him go, yet.

Gripping Merlin's arms, he temporarily halted the warlock's momentum, keeping his best friend hovering above him.

"You are going to tell me _everything_ when we get a moment's chance," the statement wavered as he stared up into the beloved blue eyes peering down at him.

Merlin's entire face lit up with a beautiful smile. "Arthur…" his best friend laughed, voice just on the solid side of tremulous, " _Gods_ …all I've ever wanted _is_ for you to know!"

_TBC_


	4. The King's Grace (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur take approximately step 1,920 on their journey towards Camelot's Golden Age. It is surprisingly easy. (Alternately, Merlin is protective, Arthur is protective, and they may actually have started to get somewhere with their discussion about Merlin's magic...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through several iterations, but I think I finally settled on a version I like :). I am trying to balance subtle with major hints, action with reflection, and it is no easy task :sweat drop:. One of the elements I love about this series is the slow build of Merlin and Arthur's relationship, and I am trying to stay true to that. Here's hoping it works! Please enjoy this next chapter while I go crash for the next two days ;).

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 4)**

"..You certainly took your time!" Tristan snarled when Merlin and Arthur emerged from the cave tunnels two hours later to find their companions waiting for them under a faintly pink sky.

"Sorry," Arthur answered shortly, removing the protective arm he had kept braced against Merlin's back for most of their journey here.

If Tristan's voice sounded a little terse when he greeted them, Merlin could be inclined to forgive him. It was clear from a glance at the woman that Isolde was utterly spent, the flight through the tunnels having done her wounded side no favors.

In fact, Merlin felt fairly sure one of the only reasons the smugglers _had_ waited for them was because Isolde could not bear to go much further.

The other reason, he suspected, from the mulish cast to her jaw, was because Gwen had not _allowed_ them to go any further. His dear friend was nothing if not loyal, despite Morgana's attempts devised to show the contrary, and she displayed that in spades now.

Gwen's eyes widened as she took in their appearance with the aid of the gradually brightening sky.

"What _happened_ to you two?" she breathed, instinctively reaching up to touch the cut on Arthur's forehead that Merlin had attempted to clean during their trek out of the tunnels.

Arthur flinched and turned his face aside, side-stepping her hand with a swiftness that had Merlin frowning at him, especially when Gwen looked devastated by his refusal of her affection.

He caught a momentary glimpse of Arthur's own pained grimace before his attention turned back to Gwen where she had bitten her bottom lip, curling her hands into loose fists at her sides.

Although Gwen's eyes were not on him, Merlin spoke to her, anyway: "Agravaine happened," he revealed with a sigh, not overly insulted when she jerked around to face him in clear startlement.

Her eyes widened even more when they landed on the livid red bruise still throbbing along the right side of his face, despite two hours having passed since their confrontation with Agravaine in the tunnels.

"Merlin…" she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Merlin winced and let her examine his face, suffering her ministrations good-naturedly until she had finished.

"We're all right, Gwen," he assured her with a tight-lipped smile once she was through, stepping forward to hug her.

Gingerly, she returned the embrace, well-aware he had other bruises concealed beneath his chain mail and jerkin. In his ear she whispered, "I hope you gave him a few good lumps for me."

Merlin laughed at her response, heartened by her resilience, and stepped back, offering a grin that pulled at his aching face muscles, "I think Arthur handled that nicely, but I did try."

When her eyes inevitably wandered back to the king in question, Merlin leaned down and murmured in her own ear, "Don't worry, he'll come around."

Gwen glanced up at him sharply, but said nothing, releasing him with a final, tentative squeeze of his ribs.

Behind them, Tristan spoke up, voice a demand, "But he's dead? He can't follow us? What of his men?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow at the stormy look he was met with, stepping back to join Arthur as his best friend regained his side.

" _Quite_ dead," responded curtly. "As for his men…they'll never make it past the mountains."

He felt a bit guilty for his tone when Tristan seemed to take in one huge breath and let it out, shutting his eyes in momentary gratitude, before he tightened his hold on Isolde's waist and opened his eyes to regard Merlin and Arthur with something that wasn't quite distaste, "Where to now?"

Merlin and Gwen glanced at Arthur, whose lips set in a thin line under their attention.

Anyone else would classify the expression on the king's face as grim determination, but Merlin knew his best friend well enough to notice the slight hitch to his shoulders and the tension in his stance that suggested he did not want to be the one to make this decision.

"…To the plains beyond the mountains," Arthur finally decided.

Tristan raised an eyebrow at the king, something that was almost a smirk touching his lips, "You sure? That's Lot's kingdom. He's no friend of the Pendragons."

Merlin bristled, not particularly caring for the man's tone as he addressed Arthur. To the warlock's surprise, he felt Arthur's hand press against his hip, quelling the agitation he had been unaware he felt.

It allowed Gwen to speak up while he was thusly preoccupied, and he ruefully admitted that was probably a good thing. Their female friend would be a great deal calmer than he when she spoke, "Well, perhaps we could find a house. Someplace where we could rest."

Tristan snorted, strengthening his grip on Isolde's waist, but his frustration seemed to soften when he saw Gwen's concerned glance at Isolde as she spoke, "We're fugitives. Anyone who harbors us would be in danger."

 _Like Ealdor_ , went unspoken.

Merlin tensed. He had been actively _not_ -thinking about his mother and his home village for the past few hours, but now…Tristan's reminder smarted.

(After all, hadn't _he_ been the one to lead their party there? And look what had happened…)

"He's right," Merlin took a deep breath to master himself, glancing up at Arthur. "We must travel back towards Camelot."

Arthur's sharp glance at him told the warlock his thoughts had not gone undetected, but his best friend nonetheless frowned and withdrew his hand to cross his arms tightly across his chest as he considered Merlin's argument, "Why do you say that?"

Merlin sighed, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck…and winced, quickly aborting the motion, as his bruised shoulder muscles vehemently protested the movement. Ignoring the flash of worry in Arthur's eyes, he explained, "If we hold up in the Forest of Essetir, we'll be safe for at least a little while."

Arthur pursed his lips, thinking it over. "How do you know that? Morgana certainly didn't have trouble tracing us to Ealdor!"

Merlin shook his head, "Only because Agravaine was on our heels and she probably expected it, Arthur. If anyone has survived the battle, that's where they'll be hiding. You _know_ that, Arthur! You designed those plans yourself!"

Arthur grit his teeth, unable to refute it, but Merlin was heartened to see he was actually _listening_ to him, for the first time in a while.

A blunt and unapologetic Tristan spoke up in the slightly awkward silence that followed, "I know what _I'd_ do. But you're the king, Arthur. You're our leader…"

It took Merlin a second too long to realize the smuggler was baiting Arthur. By the time he had and begun to open his mouth to snap a rather impolite retort, Arthur was already nudging him along the path in front of them, "Fine. To the Forest of Essetir it is."

Merlin only just caught a glimpse of the smirk adorning Tristan's lips as they began their climb down the mountain.

IOIOIOIOIOI

He was still riled up by the time they had left the trail to set up camp.

Of course, he did not realize he was fuming until Gwen pointed it out, touching his arm where they worked together to build up the fire.

"Merlin?" she asked cautiously, gently squeezing his arm as he shoved together two pieces of wood with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "What's wrong? Why are you angry?"

Suddenly aware of the scene he must be making, Merlin released a long, low breath and sat back on his boots, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

"…Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't realize how much it was affecting me."

It was testament to their years-long friendship that Gwen knew exactly what he meant: "It's Arthur," she murmured, raising her hand to lightly rub at his shoulder, " _of course_ it's going to affect you."

"He's been like this since we left Camelot, Gwen," Merlin admitted miserably, "and Tristan isn't helping by demeaning him at every turn. I get why Tristan's angry, and frustrated, and…and scared…" he lowered his voice in deference to Isolde, whom they watched struggle to sharpen her knife nearby, "But it's the _last_ thing Arthur needs to hear right now."

They both glanced up at Arthur and Tristan, where the two men collected wood for the fire along the edges of their clearing, neither servant sure what they could do to reinstate the confidence their king had so clearly begun to lose since their flight to (and from) Merlin's village.

At that moment, Tristan's voice carried to them over the wind, and Merlin clenched his teeth as he heard the derision with which the older man spoke, "Well, well look at you…!"

It was clear from Arthur's motions (still collecting firewood) that his best friend was trying to ignore the smuggler, but Merlin found it impossible to do the same. Especially when the subject of the conversation turned to _him_ : "First you go back to rescue your servant, now you're getting your hands dirty. But then again, why shouldn't you? You're just like everyone else, after all. There's nothing special about _you_ , is there?"

Merlin hissed angrily under his breath, causing Gwen to glance at him in alarm. She began to speak, most likely in attempt to placate him, "Merlin—"

But Merlin ignored her, having had quite _enough_ of Tristan's thinly veiled attempts to provoke Arthur, and shoved himself to his feet, shrugging off Gwen's hand as he strode over to join them.

He arrived just in time to hear Arthur retort, "Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I _don't_ deserve to be king."

…Merlin probably should have expected the hurt that statement evoked, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to wrestle his temper under control. He had no idea what his magic would do if it were provoked.

Tristan snorted, "Well, that's all right, 'cause you're not. Not anymore."

"Well, actually…"

Merlin's icy interjection caused both king and smuggler to jump, Arthur's armload of wood tumbling to the ground as he pivoted sharply to face the warlock.

Merlin smirked at him, but his expression grew progressively grimmer as he turned to face Tristan.

"You're wrong," stated firmly.

Tristan's eyebrows shot to his hairline, clearly not having expected the servant to speak up so vehemently in defense of his master.

The problem was Arthur had never been _just_ a master to Merlin.

"You seem very sure of that," the man observed with something like bewilderment.

"I _am_ ," Merlin answered readily, if a bit hotly.

He felt Arthur stare at the side of his head but ignored it in favor of defending his best friend.

"He has no kingdom," Tristan's bewilderment had turned to disbelief, and his voice rose as he gestured incredulously to the forest surrounding them, "all his people are gone—fled or dead. What is there left to be king _of_?"

"He's _my_ king," Merlin retorted fiercely, fists clenching at his sides.

Arthur inhaled sharply beside him, and Merlin was _almost_ distracted by its tremble. If he thought it would have made any difference, he would have challenged Tristan to a duel right then and there, but the man was now staring at him, anger and disbelief giving way to astonishment.

"…You sound like Isolde whenever she defends me against her father," the smuggler muttered.

It took Merlin precisely 0.2 seconds to parse that response and understand its implications. When he did, a violent blush suffused his face to the roots of his hair.

Arthur seized the opportunity to grab Merlin and yank him into the woods, leaving Tristan staring after them in something akin to awe.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin only recovered himself enough to fight Arthur's hold when they arrived at a nearby stream.

"Enough, Arthur," he muttered, attempting to throw off his best friend's hands (albeit without much ire). "Let me _go_ …"

Arthur released Merlin but grasped his upper arms after the warlock turned to face him, clearly uneasy and unsure what to say.

"Merlin…" the king began rather helplessly.

Merlin frowned at him, "Why did you drag me away?"

" _Why_?" Arthur gazed at him incredulously. "Merlin…you looked like you were about to _attack_ him!"

"He _insulted_ you! _I'm_ the only one who gets to do that!"

A startled snort of laughter burst out of Arthur.

"Oh?" he murmured, amused and incredulous in equal measure. "Decided that, have you?"

" _Yes_ ," retorted stoutly, and perhaps a bit more forcefully than Merlin had intended.

Arthur's hands slid down to Merlin's wrists and held them, the gentle squeeze he gave them assuring the warlock that he had heard it.

"I am not sure I feel particularly _flattered_ , _Mer_ lin," the king teased. "I mean, your insults leave much to be desired—"

"Oi!" despite Merlin's best efforts and the ache in his jaw, his lips began to twitch. "I'll have you know my insults are very creative, you clot—"

- _pole_ would have ended that exclamation, but Arthur's arms suddenly closed around Merlin and the rest of the insult got smothered against Arthur's jerkin and chain mail.

A startled, semi-steady _oof_ of air, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face against Arthur's neck as he heard the _thank you_ his king could not seem to find the words to express.

"…Why didn't you say anything to Tristan?" Merlin asked when it became apparent Arthur had no intention of releasing him.

Arthur shook his head against Merlin. "I didn't want to antagonize him," the king murmured, hands sweeping up to cradle the warlock's neck.

Merlin stared at him in disbelief, his earlier ire rearing its head. "But he's certainly antagonizing _you_!"

"It's not antagonizing if it's _true_ , Merlin," Arthur countered softly.

"Says _who_?" Merlin demanded. His hands tightened around Arthur's wrists. "Arthur… _nothing_ Tristan has said is true! He doesn't _know_ you-!"

A low, incredulous chuckle interrupted him. Arthur raised his head and met Merlin's eyes, lips twitching fondly (albeit sadly) as he brought his thumb up to caress the younger man's cheek.

"…What?" Merlin asked, baffled.

"Tristan was right," murmured. Arthur's thumb rubbed Merlin's cheek again, a bit harder than the warlock thought strictly necessary. "You _do_ defend me like a lover would."

…Which, of course, completely _derailed_ Merlin's argument (never mind his thoughts) as his best friend's observation processed.

"But I didn't—" sputtered, as his cheeks turned brightly red.

Another chuckle from Arthur and his beloved friend's hands swept further up Merlin's neck to cup the back of his head.

Merlin flinched and released a startled hiss, an unexpected zing of pain flaring up at the nape of his neck, just where skin met hairline.

Immediately, Arthur released him, glancing sharply at the warlock, "Merlin?" he demanded.

The younger man winced and brought his hand up to the back of his neck, encountering a stickiness he had neglected to address on their way out of the cave tunnels.

"…Oh," murmured as he pulled his hand away and glanced down at his palm, "I didn't realize—"

"Didn't realize—" Arthur seemed to choke on air. " _Mer_ lin, you idiot, you're _bleeding_ …!"

Merlin rolled his eyes, ducking Arthur's hand as his best friend reached for him and coming up a hand's span away, stance wavering only slightly.

" _Relax_ , you prat," he grumbled. "It's barely a scratch—"

Arthur scowled and attempted to grab him.

" _I'll_ decide that," he growled.

Merlin frowned but let himself be led over to the nearby stream without much protest, guided by the gentle grip on his elbow.

"Arthur…" he tried.

"Stay there," Arthur ordered shortly, pushing him down to sit on the damp grass by the water's edge.

Merlin rolled his eyes again, but for once did as he was told, too tired to continue resisting any longer.

"…I really _am_ fine, Arthur," he murmured, as the other young man settled behind him, belt pouch in hand.

Arthur sighed, and Merlin felt his thumb stroke the nape of his neck, eliciting a small shiver and then a wince.

"…I know," the king muttered at last, "but you can't blame me for being worried."

Merlin snorted, "No, just overprotective."

A light swat to the back of his head told Merlin his best friend had heard him but did nothing more than cause him to grin.

Especially when Arthur did not bother trying to deny it and instead pressed his forehead against Merlin's shoulder blade as the warlock reached back to squeeze his knee, "Shut up, _Mer_ lin…"

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…I'm sorry I lost it," Merlin murmured a few hours later, once his injury had been tended and they had rejoined their companions for an early supper.

Arthur blinked at him owlishly where they lay together across the campfire from a sleeping Gwen, unsure what he meant.

Merlin raised a hand to his newly bandaged neck and rubbed it, a faint hue of red spreading rapidly across the bridge of his nose.

"My necklace—" he began, neck feeling conspicuously bare without the familiar weight of Arthur's long-ago Yule gift.

Arthur's face cleared and one of his hands untucked itself from underneath his head to rest on top of Merlin's own against the bandages.

"It's fine, Merlin," he murmured with a gentle squeeze, "I would rather have you than a broken necklace."

Merlin blinked, taking a moment to process his best friend's response, before he blushed, fanning himself with mock coyness, "Spare me my blushes, my King."

Arthur rolled his eyes, thumbing the side of Merlin's jaw, "You are _ridiculous_. I was being _serious_ , _Mer_ lin…"

Blush flared up again on Merlin's nose and cheeks. "…Oh."

Arthur rolled his eyes again, "Yes, 'oh.'"

"…Sorry?" Merlin had the good grace to look sheepish.

Arthur sighed, but could not quite hide the fond twitch of his lips.

"Idiot," he retorted softly, curving his hand more securely around the nape of the other man's neck.

In response, Merlin curled himself closer to his beloved friend, watching the blue eyes that gazed at him with unnerving intensity.

"…Arthur?" he murmured at last, unsure how to translate the look he was receiving.

Arthur's eyes dropped to the ground, but his thumb never stopped stroking the warlock's jaw.

"…That was the first time I've seen you use magic, you know," the king finally whispered sometime later, when Merlin was just on the cusp of sleep.

Merlin's eyes flickered open, studying Arthur's face in the gradually dimming twilight.

"No, it wasn't," he murmured, "you've seen me use magic before, to heal you…and others…"

… _a flare of gold, and Lancelot's splints and bandages disappeared with a snap. In awe, the knight rotated his newly healed forearm…_

… _a bright burst of gold light and Uther looked as hale and as hearty as one expected a man might in his prime, despite the lack of breath in his chest…_

… _Aithusa's whimpers quieted as the gold light of Merlin's magic blanketed her. She was peacefully asleep by the time he entrusted her to Kilgharrah's care, unsure how to raise such a little one…_

… _Merlin's magic washed over Elyan, reviving the man from the dead faint he had fallen into and bringing color back into his ashen skin…_

Arthur shook his head, the movement bringing Merlin out of his memories as his best friend swept his thumb along his cheekbone, "No, I mean…I sort of knew you used magic for more than just healing, but you've always had to _hide_ it, even _after_ I learned what you possessed." He chucked Merlin's chin when the warlock lowered his eyes, "…This is the first time I've really seen you _use_ it, to help me during a battle. It's just…a little overwhelming, because I don't know _why_ you do it. I'm not—I don't-"

Merlin drew in a sharp breath, interrupting him, "Arthur…the first thing you need to know is that I use it for you. I've only _ever_ used it for you—"

Arthur's arm cut him off, sliding down to wrap around his waist and giving it a tight squeeze.

"…Why?" asked softly, as the king shifted to pillow his head on his other arm.

Merlin lifted his own hand to tuck a stray piece of blond hair behind Arthur's ear.

"…Surely you don't need me to answer that?" he whispered, tracing the curve of his beloved friend's jaw, and lingering on his chin, before his fingertips finally dropped from the other man's skin.

Arthur's hand caught his before it could touch the ground.

"Well, maybe I do…" the king murmured, squeezing the warlock's fingers.

Merlin frowned and opened his mouth to respond, but his face split into a large yawn.

Arthur laughed at him.

"Go to sleep, Merlin," he whispered. "It will keep until morning."

Merlin would have liked to point out that with their luck it likely wouldn't, but he was too exhausted to string a coherent sentence together, much less an argument, so he settled for the warmth of the fire at his back and the glide of Arthur's fingertips against his palm as his best friend slid their fingers together, murmuring a good-night.

_TBC_


	5. The King's Grace (Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a crisis of faith--and it is about more than his ability to be the king Camelot needs...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a more introspective chapter on Arthur's part, but two crucial things happen that are necessary for the continuation of the rest of this story (and series)-poor guy, he's in for a tough couple of chapters. Just so you know, for whatever reason I am having an easier time writing Merlin's chapters in this story than Arthur's; I'm also trying to get back into Gwen's mindset—I want to portray her as stronger and more independent than she was in Seasons 4 and 5, more like Seasons 1 and 2 her, so we'll see how that goes :). Please enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 5)**

Arthur watched as Merlin's eyes fluttered shut, quietly studying the familiar features as he waited for his best friend to fall asleep. Absently, he turned over Merlin's hand and traced the delicate bones beneath the skin, letting what he had learned settle in place and process:

… _I use it for you. I've only_ _ **ever**_ _used it for you—_

A shuddering sigh and Arthur buried his face against the slender hand, locking their fingers together.

 _Gods, I should have expected that. I_ _**really** _ _should have expected that, but—_

Merlin murmured a faint sound of confusion and Arthur froze, jerking back as he loosened his grip, but when the other man did nothing other than furrow his brow and wrinkle his nose before his face smoothed back into sleep, Arthur relaxed and started breathing again.

Carefully, he eased himself up, watching for a moment as the firelight played across Merlin's features.

His beloved friend looked tired in the flames' glow, face pale and pinched with lingering traces of pain, and Arthur rubbed his face with his free hand, feeling heat prick at the back of his eyes.

 _-How is_ _**any** _ _of this not my fault? He got injured protecting me. Agravaine deceived me. Morgana betrayed me._ _**I** _ _abandoned_ _**Camelot** _ _. And Gwen—_

"You should sleep."

Arthur only just managed not to yelp, but it was a near thing, and he quickly glanced up to find Isolde smiling crookedly at him, amusement dancing across her features.

"…Sorry," she murmured.

Arthur blew out a breath and nodded, awkwardly shifting when she continued to scrutinize him across the fire.

He was about to release Merlin's hand and get up to join her, unsure how else to handle this situation, when she waved him back into his place.

"No, stay," she urged him quietly.

He saw her glance at Merlin, then lift her head to smirk at him, a slightly softer edge to her lips.

"He'll notice you've gone," she explained.

Arthur felt heat creep into his cheeks, knowing she was most likely right and unable to refute it without making himself look like more of an ass than he already had. Finally, he settled on nodding at her, tightening his grip on Merlin's hand.

Isolde's smirk widened, "My, I don't think I've ever rendered a king _speechless_ before."

Arthur flushed, utterly unsure how to handle this charming, disarmingly perceptive woman.

In some ways, she reminded him a lot of Merlin.

Isolde softened again, noting that her attention had made Arthur uncomfortable.

"I apologize, Your Majesty, I did not mean to overstep my bounds."

Arthur shook his head and cleared his throat, hoping his voice would not crack when he spoke, "It's fine. I…haven't exactly tried to hide it."

Isolde raised an eyebrow at him, a keenly interested look creeping into her eyes as she regarded him and Merlin, "No, you haven't. Truthfully, with how you greeted her in the village, I expected…Gwen? Guinevere, was it? To be the one at your side on this night."

Arthur flushed again, this time with shame and guilt and any one of half a dozen other emotions as he stared down at where his fingers had remained tangled together with Merlin's against the ground.

Merlin had been there for that, too, hadn't he? As he had every other time…

_(One Day Ago, Ealdor)_

_Arthur woke to someone's fingers carding gently through his hair and frowned, trying to place the sensation._

_They did not feel like Merlin's fingers. He wasn't sure why he expected them to, but the oddity of it did not sit well with him, and his eyes flickered open._

_He did not expect to come face to face with Guinevere._

_Lurching upright, he nearly knocked foreheads with her, before tumbling backwards to land on his elbows on what, he realized upon further reflection, was Hunith's bed. When had Merlin moved him here?_

" _Guinevere…" he could not control the breathless lilt to his voice as emotions surged through him—shock, joy, relief, heartbreak…_

_She smiled sadly at him, "Hello, Arthur," murmured, as she brushed back his hair from his forehead._

_He was too paralyzed to move, stunned to his core. "Wait…what are you doing here?"_

_Guinevere shrugged, "Here is as good a place as any…" She leaned down to tighten the bandages around his ribs._

_Arthur winced. But at least he now knew why Merlin had moved him here. Their flight from the Southron forces and…Agravaine…had not done his still-tender ribs any favors, and…why_ _was_ _**Guinevere** tending to him?_

" _Where's Merlin?" he blurted…and winced again, at the crestfallen look that had covered her face._

" _I'm here, you prat."_

_Arthur glanced up sharply to find his best friend leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed Arthur with a deep frown. He had clearly just come in from walking outside with Hunith, as Arthur could just faintly make out the other man's mother tending to their home's fire in the background._

_Merlin came over to study Guinevere's handywork as Arthur stared between the two of them uncomprehendingly._

"… _You knew she was here?" he finally managed._

_Merlin rolled his eyes where he had leaned over Arthur, tucking the final, straggling bandage edges back beneath the linen._

" _I_ _ **sent**_ _her here, Arthur, when I knew you wanted her to be kept safe. She gave my mother a letter—"_

_Arthur's mouth ran dry, but he did not bother trying to deny it, and when he gripped Merlin's arm, a tad too tightly, his beloved friend glanced down, a crooked grin lighting up his face as he read the emotions Arthur did not quite dare express in the older young man's eyes._

" _I think you know what to do next, Arthur," Merlin murmured._

_Yes, he did, but that did not stop him from suddenly, desperately wanting Merlin to stay._

_Easily, Merlin slipped off the side of the bed with a squeeze to Arthur's hand, "I'll leave you two alone."_

_Helplessly, Arthur stared after him. When the door quietly snicked shut behind his best friend, Arthur turned his attention to Guinevere, watching nervousness and hope war with each other in the depths of her brown eyes._

"… _I've missed you," she offered softly, after a long moment._

_Arthur swallowed harshly, blinking back tears. "I've missed you, too."_

_For a moment, Guinevere merely watched him, too uncertain and anxious to make the first move._

_At last, Arthur quelled the cold churn of his own stomach and held out an arm to her, watching Guinevere's face light up as she slipped into it and he hugged her tightly._

_But for some reason, it did not make him feel any better._

_(End Flashback)_

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…Arthur?"

Arthur jerked, eyes snapping open and eyesight blurry from the tears he had been unable to shed that night.

Through their wavering haze, he saw Isolde draw in a sharp breath, for she had been the one to rouse him from the memory.

"… _Oh_ ," the sound, little more than a breath from the woman but filled with an empathy Arthur felt utterly undeserving of, caused him to shudder and desperately blink back the heat building behind his eyes.

Fortunately, she did not press him for any answers, instead settling gingerly beside him on the log he and Merlin had been leaning against throughout supper.

He saw her wince and, reminded of his best friend's concern over the woman earlier tonight when he and Gwen had changed her bandages, asked softly, "My Lady, will you be all right?"

He did not expect Isolde to laugh at him, warm and rich, "It has been a long time since anyone has called me a lady."

Arthur did not understand.

"My Lady?" he asked again, too tired to play this game any longer.

She smiled at him, enigmatic and amused, "You are not the only one harboring secrets, Arthur Pendragon. Let us just say…there is a reason Tristan does not like kings, and it is not because we had to give up our cargo for one."

Unsure what to do with that information, Arthur nodded mutely, reflecting that, apparently, there was far more to Tristan (and Isolde) than met the eye.

Perhaps she followed the direction his thoughts had taken, because Isolde smiled again, a little more self-deprecating, and murmured, sincerely, "I apologize for Tristan. There is nothing in his life that he has not had to fight for, and when he finally has it…he can be a little obsessive about protecting it—"

"—because he's terrified of losing it," Arthur completed in a whisper, realizing with a cold shock that he _could_ , in fact, understand Tristan, could suddenly understand him very _well_ —

Isolde squinted at him, surprised, "Yes…" drawn out.

Arthur swallowed and dropped his eyes, lifting his free hand off the ground to slip his fingers into Merlin's hair, carding them through the dark strands as his best friend slept on, oblivious.

To his surprise, Isolde's warm hand covered his own, stilling it. As Arthur jerked his head up to stare at her, vaguely noting that her palm was not nearly so callused as he would have expected a smuggler's to be, she smirked at him, "Get some sleep, Arthur. Your little healer will not be best pleased if he discovers you have been up brooding half the night."

Arthur felt color and heat creep up from underneath the collar of his gambeson, spreading to his ears and nose, as he took in the implications of her statement, but finally let out a small huff of embarrassment and nodded, sliding down to lay alongside Merlin in their bivouac.

"What about you?" he murmured, eyelids growing heavy.

Isolde laughed at him, patting his shoulder as she carefully climbed to her feet, "Do not worry about me, Sire. I am sure Tristan will haul his lazy arse over here at some point. This is the least I can do for you and your friends. Let me do it."

Arthur would have liked to object, knowing from firsthand experience that injuries and night watches did not go well with each other, but she had already crossed to the other side of the fire.

Just as he opened his mouth to try, Merlin sighed and curled into his chest, leaving Arthur with an armful of best friend he did not, under any circumstances, wish to disturb.

So, with an inward groan, Arthur wrapped himself around Merlin and went to sleep.

IOIOIOIOIOI

He woke the next morning to dark hair in his mouth, a warm forehead pressed flush to his cheek, and Guinevere sitting on the log beside his head, watching him and Merlin with sad eyes.

"He hasn't let go of you all night," she murmured, as Arthur's arms tightened around Merlin's waist and he struggled to wake up.

"How would you know?" he demanded thickly; voice rough with sleep.

Guinevere shrugged delicately. "I had last watch after Tristan and Isolde."

She did not say anything more than that, but Arthur caught the implication and groaned, not yet quite awake enough to erect his guard.

"Why did no one wake us?" he muttered, raising one hand to rub at his eyes.

Guinevere sighed, "Isolde thought we should let you two sleep."

Arthur nodded, vaguely recalling the female smuggler saying as much, if not in so many words.

Guinevere glanced away. "…and so did I."

There could be any number of reasons she had said that: Merlin's injuries, _Arthur's_ injuries, the loss of Agravaine…

And Arthur was sure there was some of that, but as pink light gradually filled the sky and he came more fully awake, it occurred to him that perhaps Guinevere was just as uncomfortable with him as he was with her.

_We've barely spoken since Ealdor._

The quiet thought did not do much to build up his confidence, nor did the memory of their conversation in Merlin's village.

 _Gods…is there anyone I love that I_ _**haven't** _ _wronged?_

Merlin, of course, would have had plenty to say on the matter, but his best friend was still fast asleep on his chest, and there was no one else to mitigate his spiraling thoughts.

"Arthur?" Guinevere's hand touched his shoulder.

…Well, almost no one.

Tensing under her hand, Arthur drew in a short breath, "What is it, Guinevere?"

She crouched down at his level, plainly able to read the thoughts on his face, and frowned slightly, squeezing his shoulder, "Tristan was wrong you know. What he said last night, he was—"

Arthur jerked away from her hand as she lifted it to touch his hair like she had two nights ago.

" _Don't_ ," he murmured tightly.

Guinevere froze, eyes wide with hurt. "Arthur—"

"Guinevere, _please_ …" his voice cracked.

Gingerly, he lifted Merlin from his chest, despite Isolde's not-quite-admonishment from last night. Sliding out from beneath the other man, Arthur gently laid his still-sleeping-best-friend on the ground.

Almost immediately, Merlin's brow furrowed, and he uttered a small sound of complaint. Arthur swallowed and hushed him, pressing a hand to his forehead, before looking back up at Gwen.

Her face had softened as she watched them, sorrow, and not-quite-resignation heavy in her expression.

Arthur could barely stand to look at her, his love still very much present, but pitted by deep wells of uncertainty and grief. He stood up, desperate to move, to flee, to be anywhere but facing the demons he had wrestled with for the past several months.

Perhaps she sensed his desperation, because she reached for his hand in attempt to stop him from escaping. "Wait, Arthur-!"

But Arthur did not stay to hear it, swiftly stepping out of her grasp and backing towards the woods, eyes dark and burning, as he held her gaze. "What you did to me…Everything I cherished between us, everything we had…It's gone. I'm not sure there will ever be a way to bring it back—"

"Arthur—" she paused as she came around the log after him, hands clenching and unclenching uncertainly at her sides.

Arthur shook his head, somewhat desperately, just as anxious to get her to _stop_ talking as she was to get him to _start_ , "What happened in Ealdor…that was a moment's weakness. It won't happen again."

Guinevere did not try to reach out for him again. "But—"

He inhaled a sharp breath and prayed it would not shake when he let it out, "I-I was stupid. And selfish. I-I thought sending you away would _fix_ this, but…it didn't. You didn't try to come back, y-you didn't try to _stay_. Y-You didn't _fight_ to _keep_ me—"

Of course, _Arthur_ had not fought to keep _her_ , either, as he might have with Merlin. But…he was unsure whether he could bring himself to admit that to Gwen.

His relationship with Merlin went both ways. Didn't it stand to reason that his with Gwen should, as well?

Naturally, Gwen was all-too perceptive and more than a little stunned:

"Because you didn't _tell_ me that, Arthur!" she exclaimed. "You gave me no indication _whatsoever_ that you wanted me to _stay_! How can you expect someone to know what you feel when you refuse to _tell_ them? How could you expect me to know if you didn't tell _me_? If you ever really trusted me _at_ _all_ with things like this!"

…Because she wasn't Merlin, who never really seemed to need words to understand him in the first place.

It was a bit of a nasty revelation. Not so much that his beloved friend was just that—beloved in ways that Arthur was only just starting to figure out. But because he could not bring himself to properly reconcile with Gwen…or with the failure of the relationship he had once believed was _it_ for him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, desperately blinking back tears. "Gwen—Guinevere, I'm—"

Her face crumpled, but she managed to valiantly smile through it all. Coming forward at last, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaned up to kiss to his cheek, before backing away and finally turning, headed back to the dimly glowing fire where the rest of their company had just begun to wake up.

He overheard Merlin sleepily ask her what was wrong and where Arthur had gone, but he did not dare stay to listen for her answer. Instead, he chose to slip away undetected into the woods, stomach churning unpleasantly at the prospect of the day to come.

_TBC_


	6. The King's Grace (Part 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin tries to run damage control, is not quite as successful as he'd like, and reaches a rather startling conclusion in the meantime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's turn for introspection :) And an almost-snarky dragon thrown into the mix just for your reading pleasure ;). Seriously, though, we get some insight into Merlin's thoughts this chapter—and a rather big revelation of his, although he doesn't have the time or ability to fully process it or its implications at the moment (see if you can spot it!). Of course, Kilgharrah helps it along…
> 
> I had fun writing this chapter, even though it took a while and several drafts and iterations :). Hopefully the ending doesn't seem too rushed ::sweat drop:: I'm really looking forward to some of the upcoming chapters, but for right now I'll just have to be patient and lavish some care on this next set—I hope you enjoy them!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 6)**

Merlin went looking for Arthur after breakfast.

Or rather, _with_ breakfast, because the ass had skipped the morning meal altogether.

He understood why. His own morning had been anything but pleasant.

Waking up to various aches and pains and a softly crying Gwen would do that.

He had gotten the entire story out of her eventually, after much rubbing of shoulders and patting of backs and murmuring about how much of a prat Arthur was (because who _else_ could have caused such a reaction?).

It had won a watery laugh from his female friend, who finally explained what had happened.

Now Merlin was torn between cursing his best friend's stupidity and lamenting his compassion.

Granted, he could not say he felt terribly surprised. Things had always been a little complicated when they involved Gwen. Especially during the past several months while Merlin had watched Arthur suffer through her absence:

_(Four Months Ago)_

"… _Arthur, for gods' sakes, slow down and_ _ **listen**_ _to me…!"_

_Merlin had been rushing after Arthur through the hallways of their home for the better part of the past ten minutes. He was not entirely sure his best friend had even heard him._

_But though his temple throbbed, and he probably needed to go see Gaius, he couldn't—in good conscience—leave his beloved friend to drown in his own self-destructive tendencies._

_Reaching out, the warlock grabbed Arthur's shoulder and spun him around, but overcompensated for Arthur's arrested momentum and knocked them both into the wall._

" _Thrice-damned—" muttered, as he attempted to straighten them out. "Arthur-!"_

 _He did_ _**not** _ _expect Arthur to yank away and slam him into the wall._

" _ **Don't**_ _," the fierce retort got caught halfway in Arthur's throat. Although his force was unrelenting as he pinned Merlin to the wall with a forearm across the warlock's chest, his forehead had fallen to press against Merlin's clavicle. "I know…I know I lost my temper…I_ _ **know**_ _it's impossible for Lancelot to be anything but a specter or a shadow…but_ _ **Gods' damn it, Mer**_ _lin…!" Arthur's voice cracked, "_ _ **Why couldn't Guinevere see the same?**_ _Why wasn't what we had_ _ **strong**_ _enough-!"_

 _Merlin's heart may have been breaking for Arthur, but that did not mean he would allow him to be unfair to Gwen, "_ _**—Because it wasn't Gwen's fault!** _ _It was_ _**Morgana's** _ _!" He shoved Arthur's arm away from him. "_ _**She's** _ _the one who raised Lancelot from the dead!_ _**She's** _ _the one who somehow enchanted Gwen to believe she was still in love with him-!"_

_As he had so often recently, Arthur refused to listen to him._

" _ **I thought I told you not to say anything**_ _-!" Arthur lashed out at Merlin with an open palm._

_Stunned, Merlin braced himself for its impact, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned his face away._

_His best friend's hand froze inches from impacting Merlin's face. There was a hitch of breath, a sudden_ _**clang** _ _, and Merlin's eyes flew open to find Arthur on his knees in front of him, armor digging into the flagstone floor of the corridor as the king wrapped his arms around his middle._

"… _Shit," murmured by Arthur as he bowed his head and began rocking slightly._

_Eyes wide, Merlin fell to his own knees, reaching out to gently tangle his fingers in the blond hair at the back of Arthur's head._

"… _Arthur?" he breathed._

_His beloved friend keened, rocking even more as tears started streaming down his cheeks._

_By the time he had bundled Arthur into his lap, his best friend finally gave voice to the incoherent scream that must have been building in his chest ever since they had stumbled across Lancelot and Guinevere in the Council Chamber._

_(End Flashback)_

IOIOIOIOIOI

Even now, the memory of that day still brought tears to Merlin's eyes.

Despite knowing it was Morgana to blame, Merlin had almost hated Gwen and Lancelot alike in that moment, for the sheer _pain_ Arthur had been in—but only _almost_. And once he no longer held his sobbing best friend in his arms, Merlin had even been able to properly honor Lancelot and offer Gwen a refuge while this storm blew itself out.

Only, it hadn't really, had it?

 _Gods, why didn't I_ _**catch** _ _it? Arthur has_ _**always** _ _had trouble handling his emotions—he was never taught any different! I didn't realize it had gotten this bad—_

Of course, he had to _find_ Arthur first, before he could even attempt to rectify the situation.

"Bloody prat," muttered under his breath as he wove through the forest's underbrush, his father's old rucksack tossed over his shoulder with the meal inside it, "you couldn't have made it _easy_ for me to find you, could you?"

"…I didn't really want to be _found_ , _Mer_ lin."

Startled, the warlock tripped around a pine tree and over its root, stumbling into the small clearing beneath its branches.

And there sat Arthur, leaning against its bole, an eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline as he observed Merlin's rather graceless entry.

"As graceful as ever, I see," murmured.

Merlin rolled his eyes, cheeks faintly pink, and leaned down to lightly poke at Arthur's shoulder, "Shut _up_ , Arthur…"

The other eyebrow raised, "And _good_ _morning_ to you, too, sleeping beauty."

His cheeks warm, Merlin dropped down beside his best friend in the foliage, reaching out to softly shove the side of Arthur's face, "Be quiet, _damn_ it. You ruined my morning."

Arthur snorted, moving his face with the gentle push, "Are you actually _pouting_ , _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin ignored him. "You're an idiot," he stated bluntly, in lieu of any witty comebacks he might have otherwise made had circumstances been different.

Arthur sighed, dropping his forehead against his upraised knees, "I should have known you would follow me. Spare me the lecture, _Mer_ lin, I'm not in the mood to hear it."

"You're making a mistake—"

"—Wouldn't be the first one."

"If you just give yourselves the _chance_ —"

"—Not happening, Merlin. Not after all I've done."

" _You_ haven't done anything! It was—"

" _Morgana has nothing to do with this!_ "

Taken aback by the vehemence of Arthur's response, Merlin leaned back, warily surveying his best friend.

Somewhere halfway through their argument, Arthur had lifted his head. Now he glared at Merlin, expression fierce as he dared the warlock to contradict him.

 _Well, when have I ever let_ _**that** _ _stop me?_

"I can't help but think she has a very _great_ deal to do with this, Arthur," Merlin returned mildly, though a hint of steel underlaid his tone, "and you know it. You're scared to death of trusting Gwen because you have had so many people you care about betray you already…Even _I_ have, in some capacity…" added softly and with a great deal of regret.

Arthur groaned, "You _cannot_ be serious…" he ran his hand anxiously through his hair. " _Mer_ lin… _you're_ the one who went all girl's petticoat on me _just last night_ and said that _I'm_ the only one you've ever used your magic for. What part of _that_ qualifies as _betrayal_?"

Merlin paused, his heart giving a kick in his ribs. Was Arthur _serious_? He didn't look to be joking…

"From my perspective, _Mer_ lin, you are the only one who _hasn't_ betrayed me!"

Merlin scowled. "That's not true! Leon and the other knights— _Gwen_ —"

To the warlock's surprise, Arthur leaned sideways and let his forehead drop down to press against his shoulder, "They deserve better than me. _Gwen_ deserves better than me…and so do _you_!"

Merlin frowned, "Arthur—"

He wasn't sure at what point this conversation had become _less_ about Gwen, and _more_ about Arthur's badly shaken sense of self-worth, but he wasn't about to let it continue.

" _Mer_ lin…I've barely _listened_ to you these past several months and look where it's gotten me! An injured best friend, a failed relationship, and a lost kingdom!"

The warlock shook his head and dragged his resisting companion into a half-hug against his chest. "I'm _fine_ , Arthur, just sore. And Gwen—"

Arthur shook his own head, starting to push at Merlin's chest, "I trusted the wrong people—!"

"And they _betrayed_ you, Arthur. That's not _your_ fault!"

The king struggled to extricate himself from Merlin's arms, "I was a _fool_ …! I misjudged _everyone_ —my uncle…Morgana…even _Gwen_ …! Every decision I've made has been _wrong_ —"

Merlin grit his teeth and tightened his arms around his beloved friend's back, "You are being too hard on yourself, Arthur! You couldn't _know_ -!"

"But I _should have_ …! If I were more discerning…wise, a statesman, a _king_ -! If I had _listened_ to you-!"

Merlin clamped his arms around Arthur, trying to ignore how his best friend's struggles caused his side to flare up in protest. "—Then we _still_ could have ended up here! Don't you see, Arthur? It wasn't _you_ who chose to betray Camelot-!"

"No, I just _abandoned_ her! Her and our people! Tristan's right, I have no _right_ to be Camelot's king-!"

"No, he's _not_. You _are_ a worthy king, Arthur Pendragon, and don't you dare think any different!"

Arthur froze, eyes wide as Merlin's words processed. The warlock huffed, gingerly loosening his grip, but prepared to grab Arthur if his best friend attempted to flee again.

Arthur dropped his head in his hands, voice muffled as it emerged from his palms, "I'm good with a sword. That's all."

Merlin frowned again, reaching out to brush back the blond bangs falling in Arthur's face, "You're worth so much more than that, Arthur."

His beloved friend snorted in disbelief, "To _you_ , maybe, and even then I—"

"—Your people _love_ you…" Merlin interrupted.

… _ **I**_ _love you._

It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, and that impulse, those _words_ …they startled him. But before he could have a minor panic attack about what they might mean, Arthur shook his head, a derisive scowl twisting his lips, "Most of them are _dead_ thanks to me."

Merlin returned the scowl, just as fiercely, " _No_ , most of them _escaped_ thanks to you! _You're_ the one who drew up the contingency plans, remember? They'll be here in the forest, I'm sure of it-!"

Arthur shrugged Merlin's hand off his shoulder where it had fallen to rest and stood, prepared to walk away, "Well, if they are," his back faced Merlin, "they'll have to find themselves a new king."

For a long moment Merlin could do nothing but sit there, absolutely stunned by Arthur's declaration. Then his best friend suddenly started moving, deeper into the forest, and Merlin leapt to his feet, chasing after him, "Arthur, wait-! _Arthur_ -!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

 _At least he went_ _ **towards**_ _the camp, rather than_ _ **away**_ _from it,_ Merlin reflected with a small snort, many hours later, when he had _finally_ managed to sneak away from camp (or rather, from Arthur).

Sidling between two blackberry brambles and entering a large clearing, Merlin traipsed over to a fallen log and settled cross-legged on top of it with a sigh.

He disliked having to leave Arthur's side when his best friend clearly drew some kind of reassurance from his presence, but it felt stifling in a way. He had grown used to Arthur relying on his own certainty and fortitude, and now that he was not…Merlin hardly felt up to the task of being that for them both.

It put Albion's future at stake, too. After all, if her Once and Future King believed he wasn't _worthy_ of being her king, what kind of future would she have? And truthfully, the warlock felt rather at a loss.

If even _his_ words to Arthur failed to get through—

With a graceful _whoosh_ —a bit grand, perhaps—Kilgharrah alighted to the clearing in front of him.

Folding his great wings behind his back, the dragon lumbered forward and nudged Merlin in greeting, "Young warlock."

Merlin smiled faintly and patted him on the snout, "Kilgharrah. Thank you for all your help."

"Your village is safe, Merlin," the Great Dragon snorted, "and probably _will_ be safe for the next dozen years or so, once rumors spread about a _dragon_ protecting it."

Merlin shut his eyes, a weight he had been all too aware of carrying slipping from his shoulders. Unable to formulate words, he simply bent his head in gratitude.

Kilgharrah huffed, the sound almost embarrassed, "…Where is your Once and Future King, young warlock?"

Merlin balked, heat crawling into his cheeks, " _What_? Why do you assume Arthur would even be _remotely_ interested in—"

Kilgharrah stared down at him, unimpressed, "Young warlock…ever since we were first introduced, he has rarely left your side. You'll forgive me if I find his absence both intriguing and alarming."

At last, Merlin sighed, "…He's sleeping."

His jaw worked for a few moments as he considered the near silence that had consumed his beloved friend for the rest of the day after they had emerged from the woods.

Arthur had barely spoken to anyone, no matter how hard the warlock had tried to engage him.

Kilgharrah's nose nudged against Merlin. "What is troubling you, young warlock?"

"…It's Arthur," Merlin finally revealed, awkwardly rubbing his still-bandaged-neck. "He's lost the will to fight. He feels he's failed his people, that he no longer deserves to be king. I am afraid we won't _have_ a king soon—"

Kilgharrah snorted out a thin stream of fire, settling on his haunches, "Then you must restore your king's faith."

"But _how_?" Merlin demanded in frustration. "I have tried nearly _everything_ —nothing has worked!"

"There are other ways," the dragon rumbled. "If you have only tried ' _nearly'_ everything, then there is still an opportunity."

Merlin frowned. "What do you mean? Kilgharrah…?"

"Hand on my snout, young one," Kilgharrah rumbled, "I am going to Share Sight with you."

"What do you mean 'Share Sight?' What _is_ Shared Sight, Kil—"

But almost as soon as his hand contacted the Great Dragon's nose, Kilgharrah's eyes glowed gold and Merlin found himself yanked into a vision:

_Mist rose in waves, curling protectively around the base of the ornately carved stone, decorated with Ogham, Teutonic, Elder Futhark, and many others long since lost to time and memory—runic inscriptions of power and protection—each of their strokes flashing gold._

_The_ _gold, shimmering in the early morning sunlight and climbing to entwine itself around the bronze inlaid hilt and blade like a vine._

 _More runes, spelling out a message of hope along the blade:_ _ **Take me up, Cast me away**_.

_And a hand, strong and sure, reaching out to grasp the leather pommel—_

With a gasp, Merlin tumbled out of the vision and straight down on to the bracken-covered floor, cradling his spinning head in his hands and leaning it forward between his knees.

When he felt he could speak without throwing up the contents of his stomach, Merlin managed, "What…What was that? Was it a…a vision? Of the future?"

Kilgharrah shrugged his great shoulders. "I do not know. I merely acted as a conduit, though I saw the vision, too. That is why it is considered 'Shared Sight'—the one who acts as a conduit sees the same vision as the one it is meant for. It is not often done—the Dragonlord must be both powerful _and_ have experienced visions before. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you are—and have done—both."

Merlin took a deep breath to steady himself, and dropped his hands, lifting his head, "Th-That was Excalibur, but—"

 _I threw it into the lake—into_ _**Avalon** _ _. So how-? Freya…?_

But when he reached out with his powers, attempting to sense the slightest wisp of her presence, he found nothing.

"It may well have been the Lady of the Lake," Kilgharrah rumbled, and Merlin blushed, unaware he had said her name out loud. "But what is important now is that I take you to it. Come, young warlock, climb on my back."

Merlin took a moment to gather himself, standing on shaky legs. "Shouldn't I get-?"

"Later," the dragon growled. "If you are to convince your king to undergo this quest, you must first find the Sword in the Stone yourself and learn its story as we go. I do not know _what_ is so important about that vision, but it directly affects the prophecy about you and your Once and Future King. No, Merlin, this is something we must do on our own first."

Merlin took another deep breath, carefully mounting the Great Dragon's back. "Then let's go. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get back. Arthur is going to _kill_ me—"

To Merlin's utter surprise, a deep laugh rumbled out of the dragon's chest, "I am not sure _killing_ you is foremost on Arthur's mind, young warlock. _Kissing_ you on the other hand—"

Merlin nearly fell off his perch with a squawk, " _What_?"

His only answer was another deep, booming laugh and Kilgharrah's wings launching them into the night sky.

_TBC_


	7. The King's Grace (Part 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers Merlin has left. He reacts as expected (read: badly), much to a certain Dragon's amusement. But there is more at stake than just the Once and Future King's peace of mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, tbh. There isn't really one part I don't like; in fact, there are quite a few parts I really do like. I certainly enjoyed writing this! But it turned out rather differently than I had first envisioned it :). I'll sit with it for a while, and see if I change my mind. Please enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 7)**

Arthur woke before dawn, at first unsure what had roused him. Gradually the sensations around him trickled in: the faint sizzle of the low-burning fire, the wind rustling through the pines' needles, the first chirps of the early birds, the lack of warmth at his back—

 _Where the_ _**hell** _ _is Merlin?_

Swiftly, Arthur sat up, hoping the suddenness of his movement did not startle Tristan or Isolde who had taken last watch that night.

He really did not feel like explaining—even to Isolde—that he had long ago developed an awareness of Merlin's most minute movements.

Which was why the lack of his best friend's presence at his back bothered him more than he cared to admit. Why had Merlin's movement not woken him?

Why had Merlin moved _at all_?

Arthur's stomach plummeted.

 _He's gone,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _You've driven him away, just as you have Guinevere and everyone else._

Arthur clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and bunching his hands into fists at his sides.

 _No,_ he railed. _Not him. He would tell me if…if he wanted to leave._

If there was one thing Arthur had never doubted, it was Merlin's loyalty.

_So why didn't he wake me?_

Arthur swallowed hard. Something about this situation felt horribly odd, and he only grew more agitated the longer he sat there.

Abruptly making his decision, Arthur stood, startling Isolde awake where she had been dozing by the fire.

Straightening quickly, the woman asked lowly, so as not to disturb a sleeping Guinevere, "Arthur…? What is it?"

Arthur shook his head, ruffling up his hair anxiously. "Have you seen Merlin? Where's Tristan?"

Isolde's brow furrowed, "Tristan's collecting more firewood. We haven't seen Merlin since the two of you fell asleep together last night."

Biting back a curse, Arthur grabbed his scabbard and sword, fumbling to buckle them around his waist.

Slowly, Isolde stood up, "Where are you going?"

"To find Merlin," Arthur shot over his shoulder, striding off towards the forest as the pre-dawn light gradually filtered into the sky.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur already had some guesses about where Merlin had wandered off to; his best friend was not as subtle, nor as clever, as he sometimes liked to think. Especially when Arthur was widely considered the best tracker in Camelot, _despite_ being nobility.

It was simple enough to find the trail they had created yesterday, when they left the woods, and even easier to find the tracks Merlin had left behind several hours earlier.

Arthur just wished the warlock had woken him before he went off to investigate this particular area of the forest on his own:

_(Mid-Afternoon, One Day Ago)_

_Footsteps rushed up behind Arthur as he stormed back in the direction of their camp and the companions who waited for them, a slender hand reaching out to grab his shoulder and spin him around._

" _ **Gods' damn it,**_ _Arthur…!"_

_He found himself face to face with Merlin, who was bent double, protectively cradling his bruised ribs._

" _Hold still, will you?" his best friend panted. "We weren't finished-!"_

 _Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin line, annoyed by Merlin's persistence, but hardly surprised. "No?_ _**I** _ _thought it was."_

" _Well, it_ _ **wasn't**_ _," Merlin retorted shortly when he had breath enough._

_Arthur deflated, hearing his beloved friend's breath catch, and reached out to gently brace Merlin's elbow._

"… _You shouldn't have_ _ **run**_ _after me," he murmured, giving it a tender squeeze. "You shouldn't have even_ _ **followed**_ _me."_

" _You should know by now," Merlin caught in his breath and straightened, a softness to his face and in his voice that Arthur felt entirely undeserving of, "that I will_ _ **always**_ _follow you."_

 _Now it was_ _**Arthur's** _ _breathing that hitched, and he reached out to cradle Merlin's cheek with his free hand._

_To his surprise, Merlin actually turned into his palm and gently pressed his face against it, capturing and holding his hand in his own._

_Arthur's breathing hitched for an entirely_ _**different** _ _reason this time, but before he could ask Merlin what was going on, his beloved friend abruptly stiffened and jerked around, blue eyes bleeding gold as they restlessly searched the shadows beneath the trees._

_Arthur tensed._

" _Merlin…?" he whispered, trying to press his manservant back behind him._

_The stubborn ass wasn't having any of it and refused to budge._

" _ **Mer**_ _lin—" Arthur growled, tightening the grip he still had on the warlock's elbow._

" _Be_ _ **quiet**_ _, Arthur," Merlin hissed, gaze darting from tree to tree and arm crooked to prevent Arthur from advancing any further._

_Arthur scowled, feeling a familiar tension coiling in his gut as his beloved friend boxed him in behind him._

" _ **Mer**_ _lin!" he snarled again, his other hand grabbing the arm held up in front of him as he tried to pull his manservant back to safety._

_At last Merlin came with him, haziness in his eyes as he turned to face Arthur._

_It did nothing whatsoever to reassure him, and he gave the younger man a gentle shake. "What? What is it? Merlin-!"_

_A shaking hand got raised to Merlin's forehead, "I-I thought I just felt—"_

" _What?" Arthur demanded urgently, releasing Merlin's arm and elbow to clasp his beloved friend's face between his palms. "What did you just feel?"_

 _Merlin shook his head and blinked, eyes now devoid of their gold as they focused in on Arthur, "Excalibur. Only, I threw it into the_ _**lake** _ _, and we're nowhere_ _**near** _ _—"_

_There was a pregnant pause._

" _ **Mer**_ _lin…" asked delicately. "What exactly is Excalibur and why the hell would you throw it into a_ _ **lake**_ _…?"_

_It took a moment, but a beautiful flush suffused Merlin's face. "Oh, um…"_

_Arthur raised an expectant eyebrow._

_Merlin sighed, and Arthur startled when he felt slender fingers interweave with his own, giving his hand a small squeeze and then a gentle tug, "Come on, let's get back to camp. I'll explain as we go along…"_

_(End Flashback)_

Even now, hours later, Arthur _still_ had difficulty wrapping his mind around it:

A sword made exclusively for him? By a man his father had _killed_? Burnished by a dragon's fire, who had little reason to think kindly of him, especially _then_?

And Merlin had engineered the entire thing, just to keep him _safe_ —

Arthur sat back on his heels where he had leaned down to inspect Merlin's trail through the underbrush, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 _Gods…how am I worth_ _**any** _ _of this-?_

"Arthur…?"

Arthur nearly jumped clear out of his skin when a familiar hand settled on his shoulder.

Snapping his head up, he found a bemused Merlin staring back at him, hair and clothing badly tousled by what appeared to be the wind, "Were you following-?"

Arthur's shoulder smothered the rest of his best friend's question as he surged forward to hug him, " _Merlin_ …! Where the _hell_ have you been?!"

Merlin may have tried to respond, but all that came out was a rather muffled and disgruntled, " _Mmpf!"_

A low, rumbling chuckle from somewhere over Merlin's right shoulder caused Arthur to jerk his head up and stare over it into the large golden eye surveying them with amusement.

"Greetings, Once and Future King," Kilgharrah rumbled.

Arthur, much to his embarrassment, yelped, stumbling backwards, and bringing Merlin with him as the Great Dragon swept his extended wings back and loomed up to his full height.

Merlin's head surfaced from Arthur's neck with a quiet gasp as he began the not-so-easy process of trying extract himself from the other young man's grip. "I said… _that's_ where I've been. Gods, Arthur, could you be any more of a mother hen?"

Arthur eyed him sideways with a rather unamused glower, allowing his best friend to extricate himself from his arms, but refusing to release the warlock's hand. "You weren't there when I woke up, _Mer_ lin. What else was I _supposed_ to think?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, shifting around to stand by his side, but apparently content to let Arthur keep his hand. "That I was perfectly fine, maybe?"

" _Merlin_ …most of the time you are as far from ' _perfectly fine'_ as you can get when you disappear on me like that!"

And Gods, there was _definitely_ a _pout_ on his best friend's lips.

 _How the hell am I supposed to keep arguing with him when he looks like_ _**that** _ _?_

Apparently, Kilgharrah thought the same, because yet another rumbling chuckle filled the clearing around them and Arthur blushed as he glanced up at the dragon, having momentarily forgotten they had company.

"Greetings, Ancient One," he murmured with a bow.

The Great Dragon laughed at him.

"I think I should be insulted, Once and Future King," Kilgharrah teased (or, at least, Arthur _thought_ it was meant to be teasing). "You've only just _now_ greeted me, and I have been here all along!"

Arthur blushed again, averting his eyes as he rubbed the back of his head.

He heard a light snort from Merlin beside him as the dragon chuckled, and the warlock reached out with his free hand to gently tilt up his chin.

When Arthur was looking at him again, his best friend smiled, "I really _am_ perfectly fine, Arthur. Kilgharrah was with me…and he showed me something I think could help us."

Arthur frowned at him, "Does this have something to do with Excalibur?"

Merlin's eyes widened and Kilgharrah snorted in surprise, fire and smoke emerging from his snout, "How do you know about Excalibur, Once and Future King?"

Arthur shrugged at Kilgharrah's question, cheeks warm, and did not quite meet either of the pair's eyes as he scratched the back of his head, "Merlin told me. And I _followed_ you, _Mer_ lin…it wasn't that difficult to guess."

"Oh?" the dragon keenly eyed his Dragonlord. "How _interesting_ …"

Merlin flushed, "He doesn't know _all_ of it-!"

Arthur blanched, turning to him, "What? You mean there's _more_ …?"

His eyes soft, the warlock reached up to brace his thumbs against Arthur's cheeks, tenderly stroking their skin. " _So_ much more. You don't even know—"

"—And I'm not going to," Arthur interrupted, rather desperately, trying to step back. " _Mer_ lin—"

Kilgharrah cleared his throat.

Arthur froze.

Merlin frowned and let him go, stepping back but refusing to relinquish his grasp on Arthur's hand.

The Great Dragon eyed them intently, mostly focused on Arthur, who felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"This will be good for both of you, I think," Kilgharrah rumbled at last.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw his best friend frown at the dragon.

"What do you mean?" the warlock murmured. "Kilgharrah…?"

Kilgharrah snorted, shaking out his wings before settling them along his back, "I believe I was correct, young warlock. This is _not_ just Arthur's quest…it is yours, as well."

Merlin scowled, muttering about infuriating reptiles who had a stupid fondness for cryptic messages, but the sight of Kilgharrah's wings stretching, then flapping, then settling again, as the dragon laughed at Merlin, brought an epiphany for Arthur:

"…He flew you there," stated with sudden certainty, causing Merlin to stutter to a halt mid-sentence and stare at him, "didn't he? Wherever you went, he-"

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, "Yes…" drawn out.

The king ignored him, mind quickly making connections as he absently studied Kilgharrah's wings. They looked powerful, and strong. He had never ridden a dragon before (and wasn't sure he _wanted_ to, thank you very much), but he _did_ have several hunting falcons, who never failed to find the quarry he sent them after.

Including the one scowling at him now, clearly wondering if Arthur had taken leave of his senses.

 _Well, if he_ _**persists** _ _on believing we'll find them…_

"Merlin…" Arthur swallowed, tugging his best friend around to face him. "If you were to go with Kilgharrah, do you think you could find—?"

Arthur saw the moment Merlin reached the same conclusion he had, for his beloved friend's eyes widened with shock and something like hope.

A slow smile grew on his lips. "I could, very easily. But…"

Before Arthur could ask, his Dragonlord of a best friend turned to Kilgharrah.

"Kilgharrah…" the warlock began.

The muscle above the Great Dragon's right eye slowly drifted up, and Arthur _swore_ he saw a glint of amusement spark deep in the cat-like depths of his pupil, "Yes, Merlin…?"

"The people who fled Camelot…" and Arthur drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to believe, "do you think you could find where they are sheltering?"

Kilgharrah raised _both_ eye muscles now, in what was _definitely_ amusement, "That should not be a problem. I am a dragon, and we can cover many leagues in the blink of an eye."

Arthur breathed out and stepped forward. Gingerly, tightening his grip on his beloved friend's hand, he rested a palm on the Great Dragon's snout.

"Thank you, Kilgharrah," he murmured. "I am indebted to you."

Kilgharrah huffed in embarrassment, shaking Arthur's hand off his nose, but nudging it against the king's arm in his turn, "I am not interested in _debts_ , Arthur Pendragon…"

"Of course," Arthur agreed graciously, a corner of his lips lifting in amusement, but not daring to express it otherwise. He heard Merlin stifle a laugh beside him.

The dragon huffed a large smoke ring at the two of them, causing Arthur to step back as Merlin gently pulled him away.

Shaking out his shoulders, Kilgharrah stretched open his wings, flapping them once, twice.

"I will see you soon, Once and Future King! Emrys."

Then, with a bellowing roar, he launched himself gracefully into the sky, swiftly gliding East over the Forest of Essetir and out of sight.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur turned back to Merlin once Kilgharrah had left, intent on finding out why his best friend had chosen not to go with him…and felt his breath catch.

Pink and gold from the rising sun haloed his beloved friend, softening his edges. The colors caught in Merlin's blue eyes and burnished them a rosy gold as he turned towards Arthur. Dark brows furrowed as he took note of Arthur's attention, and for the life of him, the king could not find the right words to speak.

His best friend raised an eyebrow, "…What?"

Immediately, Arthur glanced away, cheeks warm, "Nothing important, sorry."

Merlin frowned. Before he could ask what was wrong, Arthur sighed, "You never gave me an answer, you know," he murmured.

"To what?" Merlin asked, baffled.

Arthur rubbed his neck, finally daring to return his gaze to Merlin, "To my question about Excalibur."

Merlin's eyes widened. Arthur frowned, unsure why he had received such a reaction, "…What?"

Merlin swallowed, taking a deep breath, and a faint wash of blush filled his cheeks, eyes remaining quite firmly locked on some point over Arthur's shoulder.

"…Can I tell you later, Arthur?" he murmured. "I think we need to reassure the man gaping at the edge of the clearing first."

Startled, Arthur twisted around to face the trees at his back.

There, sure enough, stood Tristan, an armload of wood scattered across the ground at his feet and incredibly pale as he glanced between Arthur, and Merlin, and the now-empty-clearing behind them.

Arthur heaved a resigned sigh, squeezing the hand he still held, "Time to start a new day."

_TBC_


	8. The King's Grace (Part 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step is always the hardest. Convincing Arthur to take it may be even harder. Luckily, Merlin has some help...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through and a few quiet hints dropped in this chapter about the future to come ;). I enjoyed writing it—it will probably become one of my favorites. We are definitely moving towards our final destination (at least in this installment!). They just need to get through the Sword in the Stone, the reclaiming of Camelot, and a few other things first ;). Please enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 8)**

Tristan had seen everything. That much was apparent by the small glares and thoughtful scowls he kept shooting at the two of them as they made their way back to camp.

Merlin received some of them, but by far the vast majority of those expressions were directed at Arthur.

His best friend, for the most part, was ignoring them. Merlin was not quite so successful.

His protective instincts had already been roused to the highest degree by Morgana's invasion and Arthur's subsequent injury. His beloved friend's insecurity and vulnerability over the past few days had done nothing to help. If Tristan continued with his attitude much longer, Merlin was going to snap.

They had just reached the outer edge of the clearing, where wild grass met woods, when Tristan mustered his humility and tapped Merlin on his shoulder.

"I'd like to speak with you," the smuggler gave Arthur an uneasy glance. "Alone, if possible."

Perhaps it was a bit churlish of Merlin, considering how polite Tristan was acting, but when Arthur flushed and tried to leave in the direction of Gwen and the fire, Merlin reached out to snag his hand, effectively preventing him from leaving.

"Yes?" he asked calmly. Without a word, Merlin made it clear that whatever Tristan had to say to him, he could say it in front of Arthur, as well.

He expected a scowl, maybe a few sharp words about how that was not what Tristan had meant by "alone."

Well, he did receive a sharp glare, but the words he expected did not come.

Instead, the smuggler asked, "Are you certain that is wise?"

Only then did Merlin see the concern under the scowl. Concern for _him_ if he had read Tristan's expression right.

_But why would he be concerned about_ _**me** _ _? Unless—_

All at once, the warlock's intuition flared up.

They had been careful— _so_ careful—to keep Merlin's Dragonlord abilities a secret ( _all_ of his magical abilities, really). As far as Merlin knew, no rumors had circulated—even within Camelot itself—about the sorcerer and Dragonlord hiding in plain sight.

_Tristan really must_ _**have** _ _seen everything._

Clearly, including the moment Merlin had flown back on Kilgharrah. From there, it surely had not taken much for Tristan to make the connection between Merlin and the twenty-four-foot dragon he had seen in the clearing.

And if he had made _that_ connection—

_I am not sure he is_ _**just** _ _a smuggler. Only_ _**Druids** _ _and families who know the dragon lore are aware of the Dragonlords._

Before Merlin could decide whether he should evade, confirm, or outright deny Tristan's suspicions, Arthur—to the warlock's immense surprise—made the decision for him.

"It's all right," the whisper fell against Merlin's ear, causing the younger man to blink rapidly at the comfort inherent in his best friend's tone, "I think we can trust him with this."

Merlin's mouth dropped and his mind pulled a total blank.

Why was _Arthur_ , of all people, defending Tristan's trustworthiness?

Why was he even considering telling someone _at all_?

Arthur quirked a half-smile at him before pulling away with a gentle squeeze of Merlin's hand.

While Merlin tried to get his speaking faculties functional, Arthur turned to Tristan.

He raised an eyebrow, "Is this about the very obvious dragon in the clearing a few minutes ago?"

The smuggler coughed, nearly choking at the blunt response, "…Maybe?"

Merlin grappled his own voice back under control, even if it came out rather strangled, "He's a friend."

Tristan leveled the warlock with a scowl of pure disbelief, "The draconic race does not suffer the presence of mere _mortals_. It is only the Dragonlords who have the slimmest hope-!"

Merlin turned bright red, and Tristan, who had studied his face as he spoke, now cut himself off mid-sentence. The smuggler's eyes widened.

Arthur cleared his throat, jerking the older man's attention to him.

"…We would appreciate your silence on this matter," he offered softly.

Although the king's response was respectful, it still carried an edge to it, and Merlin knew his beloved friend would be unwilling to compromise on this.

 _Because he's an overprotective idiot,_ Merlin thought with a roll of his eyes.

( _Of_ _course,_ Arthur noticed and glared at him. It did nothing except make Merlin slightly giddy. _This_ was the king he knew, and _gods_ was he glad to see him…)

Their interplay did nothing whatsoever to ease Tristan's mind.

"You _knew_?" the smuggler sputtered, his glare accusing as he whirled on Arthur. "You _know_ he's a-?"

Even now, Tristan did not quite dare speak the title, and Merlin supposed he appreciated the attempt to shield him. It spoke well of the man that he was willing to go this far to protect someone who was a step above a stranger (maybe two), but it really wasn't necessary.

Not that the smuggler had cared to discover that until now.

Arthur rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed, "Yes…? I've known for a few years by now."

A ferocious scowl covered Tristan's face, "I thought the Pendragons were enemies of _all_ magical creatures!"

Merlin saw Arthur wince and leaned into him, silently reminding his beloved friend that they were long past that by now.

Arthur gave him a tiny smile, knocking his forehead against Merlin's in acknowledgement of the reminder, before turning his attention back to Tristan.

The smuggler seemed somehow less severe when they glanced at him, less likely to attempt to whisk Merlin to safety and far more benign than he had been in all the time they had known him.

Merlin did not know what in their interaction had changed Tristan's mind, but he had no plans to object to it.

When he met the younger man's gaze, Tristan raised an eyebrow at the warlock, "An explanation would be appreciated," he murmured.

Merlin returned his gaze coolly, "Arthur _isn't_ what you think he is. I've told you before…you were wrong."

To his surprise, Tristan snorted out something of a self-deprecating laugh, "I suppose I deserved that."

Startled, Merlin rocked back on his heels, easing out of the unconsciously defensive stance he had adopted when speaking with the man.

Beside him, Arthur released a faint, breathy laugh, if somewhat disbelieving, and leaned close to Merlin.

"You have just been _waiting_ for an opportunity to say that, haven't you?" the king muttered in his ear, amused.

Merlin beamed at him, thrilled to see at least a little of _his_ Arthur bouncing back, "Of course."

Arthur chucked again—weakly—and shook his head, pulling back to wrap his hand around the back of the warlock's head.

"My Lady Hawk," he murmured, knocking their foreheads together, "perhaps I should name you my personal champion, instead, hmm?"

Pleased, and not a little embarrassed, Merlin returned his gaze.

"Arthur…?" he whispered.

Arthur nudged his nose with his own and then pulled back, one thumb stroking the warlock's jaw. Merlin found himself on the receiving end of a look he had been given with increasing regularity over the years—a face devoid of all its sharp edges, a soft and vulnerable mouth, and blue eyes just a tad too intense and overbright.

Merlin's breath caught. Before he could think too much of it, Arthur had retreated with a faint smile on his lips and a gentle tug of the warlock's hand as the king pulled him in the direction of their camp and its fire.

Merlin followed him in a slight daze, barely registering the tilt of his best friend's head at Tristan as they slipped passed him.

The smuggler gazed after them, expression thoughtful, and Merlin could only hope their conversation had caused him to reassess the situation and his judgement of Arthur.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Of course, Merlin had (somewhat) greater concerns to think about now.

Somehow, he had to convince Arthur to go with him to retrieve Excalibur. If he knew anything about Arthur—or, at least, _his_ Arthur—it was that his beloved friend could be notoriously stubborn whenever it concerned what was best for his people.

Unfortunately, what Arthur considered "best for his people" was the election of a new king, even if he tried to divert from the subject by bringing up Kilgharrah:

"…I just don't want to leave before we hear anything, _Mer_ lin! Why go on a wild goose chase when Kilgharrah could return at any time?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, moving towards his father's old rucksack and the bandages his mother had managed to stow there a few nights prior.

"First, it's _not_ a wild goose chase, Arthur. I _know_ where Excalibur is—Kilgharrah flew me there. Second…he'll _find_ us, Arthur, no matter where we are. Dragon who can cover dozens of leagues in the blink of an eye, remember?"

Neither of them would have attempted to have this conversation within an earshot of Gwen, who sat with a sleeping Isolde near the fire. Which was why Arthur had followed Merlin over to his rucksack when the warlock indicated he wanted to check on Isolde prior to their departure.

After much thought on the matter, Merlin suspected the only reason Arthur had even told _Tristan_ about Merlin's Dragonlord status (not really, more like _implied_ it) was because the smuggler had pretty much figured it out already.

One day soon Merlin hoped to tell Gwen, but today would not be that day.

Especially since Arthur looked so uncomfortable with the prospect of explaining why they were leaving on this quest in the first place.

"I know he's fast. I know he said he would be able to find them with little difficulty. But, _Mer_ lin—"

"But _Ar_ -thur," Merlin warmly mimicked, kneeling to rummage through his rucksack. "This is important."

Arthur sighed and fell silent. Merlin keenly felt his best friend's eyes on him as he fished out the bandages and tried to ignore the burning of his ears.

_Gods, now is_ _**not** _ _the time to think about this-!_

As it turned out, he did not have to.

"…All right, _Mer_ lin," an exasperated groan met his ears. "Supposing we _do_ go on this quest…how long are you expecting it to take?"

Sheepishly, Merlin raised his eyes and scratched the back of his head, "Um…I don't know? Kilgharrah _did_ fly me there. But surely…it can't be _that_ far, can it? I mean…I _did_ sense it in the woods yesterday…"

"…The things I do for you," Arthur sighed, offering the warlock a hand up.

A startled half-smirk crept across the younger man's lips as he took his best friend's proffered hand with his free one, "You know you'd grow bored without me. At least I make things _interesting_ —"

-And _there_ was that look again, the one he had received at the edge of the woods earlier this morning. Soft eyes roamed Merlin's face.

"…Gods help me, but you do," Arthur murmured, entirely sincere.

Merlin almost fell over.

" _What_?" he gaped, tightening his grip on Arthur's hand to steady himself.

_I was only_ _**teasing** _ _-!_

Arthur raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in the depths of his pupils at Merlin's apparent inability to speak.

"You'll catch flies, _Mer_ lin…" the king teased.

"Be _quiet_ , you smug prat," Merlin hissed, blushing furiously as he gave his best friend's face a gentle shove.

Arthur gave a soft laugh, easily rocking back on his heels, and let the warlock drag him back in the direction of the fire.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin made sure to speak with Gwen before they left.

Settling beside her with his rucksack slung over his shoulder, Merlin placed his hand over hers on the fallen log they occupied and asked gently, "Would you like to come with us? We could use your help—"

Gwen shook her head and looked up at him, a sad smile on her lips, "Not as much as I can help here."

They both glanced at Isolde who slept fitfully against the fallen log, her discomfort obvious even as she slept, and at Tristan, who looked rather lost now that his lover's bandages had been tended to.

"Besides," she remarked softly, jerking Merlin's attention back to her, "I am not sure Arthur would want me along."

Merlin frowned uncomfortably, gazing across the fire at Arthur who sat on the fallen log opposite them, staring into the depths of the flames and out of an earshot. He hated that he could not deny it.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he murmured painfully. "I thought he would have come around by now."

Pink filled the sky above him, the dawn finally breaking. If they wanted to return by nightfall—or, at least, cover a significant amount of ground—they would need to leave soon.

Gwen's smile was no less painful, but she reached up to pat him gently on his cheek, "It's okay, Merlin. I am not who he needs right now."

She let the implication hang between them, causing Merlin's cheeks to grow warm.

Shutting his eyes against the complicated flood of emotions flowing into his chest, the warlock nodded and stood, adjusting his rucksack over his shoulder.

Gwen smiled again and squeezed his hand, letting him go and shooing him in the direction of Arthur who stood the moment he saw Merlin do the same.

The younger man figured his best friend could wait a few moments and leaned down to drop a small kiss on Gwen's head.

"Be safe," he whispered, pulling back.

Gwen beamed at him, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, "We will be. You _know_ that, Merlin."

"I do," he admitted ruefully, with another dropped kiss, fully aware Gwen could easily handle a sword, and that she would probably have Tristan with her. "That does not stop me from worrying."

Nor would it stop him from casting a protective ward around their campsite before he and Arthur left, just in case.

Gwen snorted gently and pushed him away, but Merlin saw the gratitude in her eyes.

"Go on," she murmured. "Arthur's waiting for you."

It was perhaps one of the hardest things for Merlin to do to walk away, knowing Gwen was putting up a strong façade to prevent him ( _them_ ) from worrying, but he bowed to her wishes and joined Arthur at the edge of the woods.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…It's all very impressive and, I am sure, quite true," Merlin overheard Tristan remark as he joined the two of them, "but how can you be sure more Southrons aren't waiting to ambush you in the woods? There's only two of you!"

To the warlock's bemusement, the smuggler looked rather harried, even concerned.

In response, a corner of Arthur's lips twitched up, warm—even amused—blue eyes lifting to acknowledge Merlin, "I am sure we will be fine. I have it under good authority that a Dragonlord is the best protection one can have."

Merlin blushed, still unused to Arthur's unwavering confidence in his abilities, even three years later (because, of course, he _knew_ his best friend was not just referring to his Dragonlord powers).

Tristan sputtered at Arthur's apparent nonchalance, "But—"

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that not everyone was privy to the adventures Merlin and Arthur had had over the years. Merlin's abilities remained a closely guarded secret, and he did not feel particularly inclined to share them with the smuggler just yet.

They had never really been for anyone other than Arthur. Even if he used them at times to help others, too.

"Isolde's sleeping," the warlock murmured, stepping forward to gingerly touch Tristan's shoulder. He felt it go lax under his palm. "She is as comfortable as we can make her, and she seems to be turning a corner, but I am sure she would appreciate your company. She needs to rest and treat her wound as gently as possible for the next few days."

Tristan nodded reluctantly, pressing his lips together. It was clear he disliked the idea of letting Merlin and Arthur go haring off alone after Excalibur, even if he did not know the story behind it.

Merlin did not know where this sudden bout of loyalty had come from, but he was glad to see it.

Arthur seemed to pick up on it, too.

"Stay with your lady," his best friend murmured, so serious that Merlin glanced at him sharply as Arthur gained his side. "You _both_ will be grateful for it."

Tristan echoed Merlin's sharp glance, dark eyes narrowing at the king, and then narrowing even more as Arthur patiently underwent their scrutiny.

"So I will," the older man agreed at last. A beat, and then he bowed his head, "Thank you, Your Majesty."

It was the first time Tristan had ever shown any genuine deference to Arthur.

Arthur blinked rapidly, a powerful, twisting emotion filling his expression before he turned away, pressing his hand to his face.

Merlin watched, eyes stinging, and caught the small, concerned frown that pulled down Tristan's lips as he, too, observed Arthur's reaction.

Squeezing the smuggler's shoulder, Merlin murmured emphatically, " _Thank you_."

Tristan's frown deepened as it turned to him, "Merlin—"

Merlin shook his head, eyes slightly overbright, "Don't worry…I'll take care of him. You should get back to Isolde. Besides," added with a tender, roguish grin at Gwen as she leaned over to murmur something to a newly-awoken Isolde, "I am sure Gwen would appreciate a second sword."

Startled, Tristan blinked at him, "Wait, a _second_ sword-?"

Merlin quirked an enigmatic smile at him, slightly tinged with mischief, and dropped his hand from the smuggler's shoulder with a final squeeze.

Stepping away, he moved to Arthur's side and gently touched his best friend's back, forcing Arthur to drop his hand and glance up at him, blue eyes almost gray with the gamut of emotions that must be running through his head right now.

Merlin shook his own and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Arthur's temple, murmuring against his ear, "He meant every word of it, you know."

"I know," Arthur agreed weakly, "but I—"

Merlin shook his head again, rather more firmly, and put a stop to that train of thought before it could even begin: "Don't you _dare_ ," whispered fiercely.

Baffled, Arthur scowled at him, "You don't even know what I was going to—"

"I can guess well enough," Merlin interrupted, pulling back to grab Arthur's hand. "We're going. Come on."

Before Arthur could even protest, the warlock dragged him in the direction of the woods. Within a few moments, both young men had melted into the mists of the early dawn.

_TBC_


	9. The King's Grace (Part 9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's destiny is drawing nigh. He just needs that one, final push...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty monumental chapter here, folks, because of…well, you'll see ;). We are now getting into the thick of the chapters I have been chafing at the bit to get to, and I hope I do not disappoint! I love this chapter, and I hope you do, too. We have Merlin and Arthur moving towards their shared/chosen destiny, even if Merlin needs to give Arthur a bit of a push to get him going. They haven't quite gotten to the point of Arthur pulling out Excalibur, they sure are (please excuse my language) damn close. I hope you enjoy this ninth chapter of The King's Grace (and your Thanksgiving, if you are American)!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 9)**

Arthur _kept_ scowling long after they entered the woods, alternating his glare between Merlin's hand still gripping his and Merlin himself, as the warlock led the way through the forest.

Damned if his best friend weren't the most _stubborn_ man on earth.

 _And he_ _**still** _ _hasn't let go of me…!_

Truthfully, Arthur was not quite sure what to make of it. They had rarely let each other stray more than an arm's length apart since…since confronting Agravaine if Arthur were being honest.

He did not like admitting how badly it had unnerved him when he realized Merlin was missing this morning. Even now, remembering how brutally his uncle had attacked his beloved friend made Arthur's stomach swoop sickeningly.

 _If I can't even protect those I love the most…how on_ _**earth** _ _am I worthy of protecting an entire_ _**kingdom** _ _?_

Their gait had slowed considerably since leaving their campsite and its clearing behind them. Now Merlin paused, letting their arms go lax between them as Arthur came up even with him.

Arthur tried not to squirm under his beloved friend's thoughtful gaze, feeling as though Merlin could see right _through_ him and read the doubts Arthur was too much of a coward to lay bare. Doubts that had only been exacerbated by Tristan's sudden deference in the clearing.

 _Of course he can. When_ _**hasn't** _ _he?_

Merlin sighed, and Arthur glanced away, cheeks blossoming red with embarrassment.

"I wish you would stop thinking badly of yourself, Arthur," Merlin murmured, squeezing his fingers before releasing them.

Arthur missed his warmth almost immediately.

"You're one to talk," he shot back, trying to conceal his nerves and remembering all too well their argument that had taken place in the cave tunnels.

" _I am not_ _ **that**_ _much of a monster…!"_

It made Arthur nauseous to know that Merlin would _ever_ believe—even for a moment—that Arthur thought of him as a monster.

He felt even _more_ nauseated when he realized that, at one point in his life, he _would have_.

"This isn't _about_ me," Merlin's soft insistence interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

Arthur watched him swallow and for the first time, now that they were truly alone, noticed what he had not much earlier this morning when Tristan had confronted them: Merlin was _uncomfortable_ , and unfortunately (or fortunately), Arthur knew his beloved friend well enough to guess why.

"Merlin—" he began, reaching instinctively for his best friend and vaguely wondering when that had become as easy as breathing.

Merlin pressed his hand over Arthur's mouth, instead.

"We can talk about me…and what I've done…later, Arthur. Now isn't the time to—"

Arthur sighed, his breath fanning against Merlin's palm, and met the other's gaze with eyes full of frustration.

"When is _'later,' Mer_ lin? We have the time now, and it's just us, so _why_ —"

Merlin shook his head, shifting to curl his fingers under Arthur's chin and thumbing the older young man's nose, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.

"We _don't_ have time, Arthur. We're running _out_ of time. We need to find Excalibur. It's the only way to save Camelot."

Excalibur again. How could he explain to Merlin that every time he even _thought_ of handling such a weapon his stomach churned, and his thoughts rebelled?

 _How am I even_ _**worthy** _ _of such a thing?_

Arthur swallowed, blinking rapidly.

" _Mer_ lin…" he began beseechingly, "are you _sure_ -?"

Merlin offered him a tiny smile, fingers falling to catch Arthur's own, "When have I ever _not_ been, Arthur?"

When had he, indeed?

"But—"

Merlin tugged on his fingers and they started walking again at a rapid clip.

"Bruta faced challenges, too, Arthur," Merlin reminded him. "Remember?"

That tiny smile still pulled at the corners of his lips. Arthur _wasn't_ going to say how charming it looked on him.

"I do," he admitted, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "But this is _different_ —"

Merlin shook his head. "It isn't. Not really."

Arthur snorted, rather desperately, "And how do you figure _that_ , _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin easily ignored his tone, and Arthur mentally groaned.

There were disadvantages to being best friends for six years.

"Camelot is still divided," Merlin murmured, gently pulling him along, "as it was when Bruta first divided the land. Not just between the various kingdoms, but between magic users and those without, too."

"And you believe I can _reverse_ this? _Mer_ lin-!"

 _I…I_ _**can't** _ _. Not if I am unable to even reconcile with my own_ _**sister** _ _…!_

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin shook his head, turning around to face him and walking backwards as he tugged him forwards. "Will you at least let me _finish_?"

Arthur's shoulders slumped, but he nodded.

Merlin huffed a little, "Good," and righted himself.

They walked for a few minutes in silence as Merlin gathered his thoughts and Arthur swallowed, adjusting his sweaty grip on Merlin's hand. That small bit of contact was one of the only things he had to ground himself right now.

When Merlin spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I did not know this until Kilgharrah told me, but…on his deathbed Bruta asked to be taken deep into the forest, to the very shores of Avalon itself. Once there, even though he was dying, he spoke to its Guardian, and asked her to erect a stone in the very place he and the elders of each tribe had drawn up the boundary lines. He hoped that one day…one of his descendants would reunite the land."

Arthur's stomach roiled.

"And you think _I'm_ the one who will do that? _Honestly—Mer_ lin—"

He received a sharp glare.

"Will you let me _finish_?" Merlin demanded.

Arthur bit back the increasingly hysterical denials building on his tongue, pinned by the severe look in his best friend's eyes.

 _He's just as anxious as I am,_ Arthur realized, feeling a tremor wrack Merlin's hand.

That did not make him feel any better.

Merlin held the glare for a full minute, making sure Arthur had finished and would do as he was told. Then he began again:

"The Guardian laughed at him. She said no man could be as great as he. But Bruta remained firm, insisted the stone be placed and provisions made for the one who would follow him."

Ducking a low hanging branch, Arthur listened, quietly reminding the part of himself chafing under Merlin's tone that his best friend deserved at least that much, after he had ignored his advice for the better part of four months while under Agravaine's sway.

_After everything he has done for me…it's the least I can do._

Merlin continued, oblivious to Arthur's thoughts, "The Guardian loved Bruta, as only a guardian of the earth can, so she agreed. She promised to pass on his tale—and the tale of his Stone—to her children, after making _them_ promise to do the same. But she warned Bruta that she—and her children—would only accept a _true_ member of his line as King over all of Albion. She told him whichever child of hers became Guardian at the same time as this Once and Future King would devise a test the king must pass in order to prove his lineage. Apparently…" and _Merlin_ swallowed this time, "apparently…that means today, and the task Avalon's current Guardian chose…is to pull Excalibur from the Stone."

Arthur's gut plummeted. Before he could give voice to a frantic objection, however, they broke into a clearing in the middle of the woods and Arthur rapidly blinked his watering eyes, dazzled by the brightness of the light pouring down on their shoulders.

Although Arthur possessed no magic to speak of (though, if Agravaine were to be believed, it was what he was born of and therefore coursed through his very blood), even _he_ could sense the sheer power rolling off the Sword in the Stone in concentric circles as it rippled out to touch the toes of their boots.

Merlin stepped back to stand beside him, their interwoven hands resting between them.

Arthur did not dare look at him, afraid of seeing the soft expression he _knew_ would be on his beloved friend's face.

"What the _hell_ are you playing at?" he whispered, unable to tear his gaze from the sword thrust into the moss-covered stone, morning's last wisps of fog curling around its edges.

Merlin unlaced their fingers and grasped his face, cradling Arthur's head as he forced him to meet his gaze.

As Arthur had expected, Merlin's face was unbearably tender.

"I'm going to make you see that Tristan was wrong; you _aren't_ just anyone. _You_ are special…and you are going to prove it by drawing out that sword."

Dismayed, Arthur stared back at Merlin, "Merlin, it's _impossible_! That sword is stuck fast in _solid stone_!"

"And you're going to pull it out."

Arthur swallowed, "Are you _serious_?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm joking?" Merlin demanded, his grip tightening on Arthur's hair.

Arthur's eyes darted between Excalibur and the fierce blue gaze boring into him, " _Mer_ lin…"

Merlin's arms abruptly curled around his neck, causing Arthur's breath to catch in his throat as the warlock brought their foreheads together.

"You have to believe, Arthur," Merlin whispered, his breath pattering against the older young man's cheek.

Arthur swallowed with an audible click, deciding that even the incredible pull of Excalibur in Bruta's Stone paled in comparison to this man who, against all odds, believed in a broken king and the destiny they shared.

Merlin's startled squeak, as Arthur's arms slid around his waist and pulled him into a full-bodied hug, got smothered against Arthur's chest as the king buried his face in his warlock's neck.

"All right," breathed against the warm skin there, " _all right_ , Merlin. You win. I'll pull the damn sword from the stone." He pulled back only far enough to gaze at Merlin (noting, incongruously, as he did so that his boots put him at equal height with his beloved friend), "Will you help me?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was asked so shyly. Arthur might have cringed if Merlin had not already seen him at his worse.

But then Merlin's hands were on his, gently but firmly pulling them off his waist, and lowering them to rest between the two of them.

Arthur's breathing hitched, "Merlin…?"

Merlin shook his head, his grip on Arthur's hands tightening.

"I can't," the warlock admitted ruefully. "There are wards of intent on the Stone."

Arthur's brow furrowed, "What are…intent wards?"

Merlin released a soft exhale through his nose and momentarily squeezed Arthur's fingers, "Old magic. They make it so that only those who are meant to access a certain object or a certain location can get to them."

Unease and a slowly burgeoning panic crept up Arthur's spine.

"What does that mean?" he asked quietly.

Merlin inhaled deeply…and stepped back, abruptly releasing Arthur's hands.

Arthur's eyes shot to his best friend's in a near-panic, a knot clenching in his lower back.

"Merlin, _what are you doing?_ " breathed anxiously. He dared not chase after him.

His beloved friend smiled tightly, blue eyes shining far too bright:

"Starting our destiny."

Arthur's eyes went wide, " _What_?"

Merlin hugged his arms to his body, although whether it was to stave off the early morning chill or to prevent himself from reaching for his king again, Arthur did not know.

"Arthur," Merlin started, " _you_ are the true king of Camelot. I'm…I'm just your warlock. I…my intent is not as pure as yours."

_Did he honestly just say that?_

Arthur stared at his beloved friend in disbelief, recalling—sharply—that Merlin had done nothing but protect Arthur and Arthur's Camelot, and asked for nothing in return but to be Arthur's friend.

 _Did he_ _**really** _ _just fucking say that?_

" _Mer_ lin-!" sputtered, and this time Arthur _did_ step forward, intending to reach for his best friend. "That's not-!"

Merlin shook his head again, slipping out of Arthur's grasp and clenching his arms around his stomach.

"I really _can't_ ," he insisted softly. "I'm not the king. I'm not…I'm not looking to protect _Camelot_ …"

He trailed off, but his eyes begged Arthur to understand:

 _...I'm looking to protect_ _**you** _ _._

It stopped Arthur short, forcing him to draw in a sharp breath.

…Because it was true, wasn't it? Merlin had _always_ sought to protect Arthur, sometimes even above all else, _including_ Camelot. (Their relatively recent clash with Queen Annis came to mind.)

 _But does he_ _**really** _ _mean-?_

"— _You_ are the only one capable of pulling Excalibur out of Bruta's Stone, Arthur," Merlin murmured, stepping closer as Arthur's crippling self-doubt began to make itself known in the crumpling of his expression. " _You_ are the one who wants to protect Camelot, her people and her land. _You_ are the king who refused to abandon his people, even when in certain peril. I just…"

A crooked smile lit up Merlin's face as his best friend stepped even closer, "…I just wanted to get you away from Morgana and her forces."

Their chests nearly touched. Arthur exhaled unsteadily, hands twitching uncertainly at his sides as an entirely _different_ set of thoughts and priorities began to make themselves known.

Merlin's fingers brushed his cheek, and Arthur jerked his head up to stare at him.

Merlin tilted his head, that beloved, crooked smile still on his lips: "Hey…" murmured.

Soft blue eyes met his. Fingers stroked back his hair. Even if Arthur had _wanted_ to talk, he could not have said a word.

"Do you trust me, Arthur?"

Startled, Arthur blinked, entirely wrong-footed, and leveled his beloved friend with a look of complete disbelief.

That _wasn't_ the question he had expected.

" _Of course_ ," he murmured, emphatically.

Merlin blinked, then brightened, smiling fully, "Then trust me when I say I believe in you. I will _always_ believe in you. You _will_ become the greatest king Albion has ever known. _I_ can see it. All you have to do," and here Merlin took a deep breath, his hand falling to grip Arthur's shoulder, "all you have to do…is prove it to _yourself_."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Silence filled the clearing, Excalibur flashing in the first rays of morning light, but Arthur's vocal cords refused to work. An annoying burn had built up behind his eyes and now crept up to leak out of their corners. The knot in the center of his back had moved to the center of his chest, and an ache had settled beneath his ribs.

One day soon he would stop underestimating Merlin and the effect his beloved friend's words had on him.

Today would not be that day.

… _It was always you, wasn't it? It was always, always you. Gods…is there any part of my life you_ _ **have not**_ _touched?_

Arthur knew the answer to that question, too, and the feeling that had roared and reared and thrashed to be let out over the course of the past three years finally found an outlet: through the hands that gripped Merlin's shoulders, the gentle pull that brought the warlock close…and the warm lips he pressed to his beloved friend's forehead.

_I may be Camelot's king…but you are my Lady Hawk, my saving grace, and I will never be able to do any of this without you._

_TBC_


	10. The King's Grace (Part 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to help Arthur, Merlin must trust to faith and the strength of their bond alone as his best friend strives to pull Excalibur from Bruta's Stone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but momentous chapter here, folks (and, I hope, sweet). Arthur is now faced with the necessity of pulling Excalibur from the Stone, and Merlin can't do anything to help. This part went through so many iterations and so many revisions, that I literally have at least a quarter of my composition notebook dedicated to just this chapter :sweat drop:. I'm going with this version for now because it is the one that is closest to my original vision for the chapter (along with trying to get my P.O.V's back on track) :). I have plans to publish a second chapter that immediately follows this one either sometime this weekend or next, so hang tight—it hopefully won't be long! Please enjoy :)

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 10)**

Despite the ancient power vibrating throughout the clearing and the way his powers battled the foreign intrusion, Merlin's forehead burned where Arthur's lips contacted his skin.

The warlock barely processed that yes, Arthur was kissing him, before his king pulled back and tipped his head forward, bringing their brows together once more.

"…You really can't help me?" Arthur checked, voice a murmur.

Merlin's lips trembled.

"Gods…I wish I _could_. The wards won't let me through."

Of course, that would not stop him from attempting to follow Arthur.

"Merlin…?" the king's hand settled along his jaw, Arthur's thumb brushing against the jut of Merlin's cheekbone as his brow knitted in concern.

Merlin realized then that his best friend's image had gone blurry, and that cool liquid seeped down his cheeks. His lips tasted salt.

Pursing his own, Arthur brought his other palm up to brace the right side of Merlin's jaw, so that he now cradled the warlock's face between his hands.

"What's wrong?" he murmured.

Merlin snorted out a thick laugh, wiping at his watering eyes with his wrist.

"You should go," he whispered, pushing at Arthur's chest.

Arthur frowned, clearly debating the merits of leaving Merlin alone like this.

"Go on," Merlin insisted, pressing firmly against his friend's broad chest.

Arthur's hands tilted his face up, the king's blue eyes peering intently into the warlock's own.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Never mind the steadily building ache behind his temples as his magic fought the wards that had, by now, latched onto Arthur's signature.

The scowl Merlin received in response told the warlock that Arthur did not quite believe him.

(One of the hazards of being best friends for six years.)

His smile turned a bit more rueful. Gently, he flattened his palms against Arthur's chest…and pushed, trying to put some distance between them.

"I'll be _fine_ ," he insisted, trying to ignore the pounding of his head.

At last, Arthur sighed and nodded, untangling his fingers from the midnight strands that had curled around them.

Only Merlin saw the moment he stopped _acting_ the part of the king and _became_ one.

Until now, Arthur had seemed to consider himself a boy playing dress up in his father's clothes (no matter how Merlin tried to convince him otherwise). But now…he _consciously chose_ to step into the role of Camelot's Once and Future King, and Merlin could not be prouder of him.

It was nothing monumental: Arthur drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders…and stepped back, his hands smoothing down Merlin's shoulders and along his arms, leaving a trail of heat in their wake which caused Merlin to shiver. Briefly, their fingers tangled together before Arthur released him.

Now only their gazes remained locked, and Merlin lifted his chin, ignoring the tears that continued to leak down his cheeks.

Arthur echoed his stance, tilting his chin up to meet Merlin's eyes.

The warlock smirked.

 _You never_ _**have** _ _been a coward, Arthur. Perhaps today you will finally see what I have all along._

"I have faith in you, Arthur," softly stated.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. "…I know you do," he murmured.

The king's eyes suddenly snapped open.

"And I hope to God I don't disappoint you now."

A crooked smile lit up Merlin's face.

"You never have, Arthur."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin's chest ached as he watched Arthur go, turning away from the warlock to head over to Excalibur. He found his inability to intervene far harder to cope with than he had ever imagined:

 _I've never_ _**not** _ _been able to do something to help Arthur. I've always,_ _**always** _ _been able to step in when needed. But now—_

-Now, his temples pulsed—unpleasant and hot—as he tried to cope with the Old Magic invading his senses and attempting to eject him from the clearing, uncaring of his desire to follow Arthur.

A hot lance of pain pierced his temple as he tried to press one final handspan closer to Arthur and he gasped, stopping there, finding himself unable to go any farther.

Gritting his teeth, Merlin dug in his heels and forced out, "You've got this, Arthur."

Arthur gave no indication that he heard him, eyes focused and his jaw hard as he neared Excalibur.

"…You're destined to be Albion's greatest king."

Upon arrival at the Stone, Arthur set his feet shoulder-width apart, balancing on the balls of his toes and his arms loose at his sides. He eyed Excalibur with steely determination.

"…Nothing, not even this Stone, can stand in your way."

As a dizzying surge of pain poured down the link with his magic, Merlin clenched his teeth and shoved it back, trying to focus on Arthur.

"You've _got_ this, Arthur. You must have faith…"

Arthur blew at the blond hair plastered to his forehead and blew _out_ a determined breath. His hand reached out, strong and sure, to grasp Excalibur's leather pommel.

"… _I do._ "

Gold exploded throughout the clearing.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It took Merlin a moment to blink the bright afterimages of light out of his eyes. His hearing returned first, bringing with it the sounds of rushing wind and shuffling feet.

Then his sense of touch returned, and with it an awareness of a warm hand gently grasping his elbow.

Immediately, Merlin tensed, detecting multiple presences ringing Excalibur's glade that he had not with the Old Magic consuming every shred of his attention and power.

"My Lord…?"

It was a familiar voice, murmured close beside his ear, and Merlin snapped his head up, eyes wide.

"…Bors," he breathed, shoulders relaxing as he locked gazes with his tutor of three years in magical weaponry.

The knight inclined his head, a crooked smirk lighting up his face, "I am glad to see you well, my Lord."

"Likewise," Merlin murmured, a brilliant smile lighting up his own. "Is everyone-?"

Sir Bors's smirk grew, "See for yourself." He nodded to the forest surrounding them.

Merlin jerked his head up, his eyes landing on Kay who gave him a faint smile. Several townspeople he knew tipped their head in acknowledgement to him as the warlock's gaze traveled across them to land on Percival who gave him a small wave, his right arm held in a sling.

It landed on Leon last, whose unwavering attention had fastened onto Arthur in the center of the clearing:

" _Long live the King!"_ their Head Knight bellowed.

Arthur literally jumped, fumbling Excalibur--now free of Bruta's Stone--and nearly dropping it as he jerked his own head up at the unexpected cry.

Merlin saw the moment Arthur registered who he was seeing, for his beloved friend's eyes immediately widened and locked onto Merlin's, incredibly blue and overly bright.

The warlock smirked, gently patting Bors on his arm in a wordless request to let him go. Bors did so, sweeping into a bow as he echoed Leon's shout, " _Long live the King!"_

Knights and townspeople alike took up the call as Merlin slowly made his way over to Arthur:

"Long live the King!"

" _Long live the King_!"

Impossibly blue eyes remained fixed on Merlin as the warlock wove through the crowd, the look in their depths more than a little overwhelmed.

 _We did this,_ they seemed to say. _**We actually did this**_ _._

Merlin's heart pounded too fast and too loudly in his ears. Despite all attempts he made to keep his own glance reassuring, it fell just short of the mark. He found that he had to repeatedly swallow against a dry throat. By the time he had reached Arthur, his own legs had gone wobbly and the smile he wore had just about broken apart.

When his legs finally gave out, he collapsed to his knees in front of his dearest friend and bowed his head.

"…Hail, Once and Future King," he murmured.

_TBC_


	11. The King's Grace (Part 11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur makes a decision (several, in fact) that will potentially alter Camelot's future and his shared destiny with Merlin. Of course, they have a siege and usurper to address first...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, this chapter…I have had this chapter in my head for SO long. Multiple iterations are scattered throughout my composition notebooks, and I pretty much powered through writing this in two days since I was so eager to get it written and published! I hope I did it justice ::sweat drop::. I had a very particular vision for this chapter (and for the way it needed to portray Merlin and Arthur), and I hope the monumental changes and decisions they make here come through. Please enjoy it and Happy Holidays!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 11)**

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath when Merlin fell to his knees in front of him. In his hand, Excalibur wavered, its hilt made slippery by the white-knuckled grasp Arthur had on it.

"No," he choked out as the sword clattered to the ground, all but unnoticed. "No, Merlin, you _don't_ —"

The words caught in his throat as he crashed to his own knees in front of the warlock, sweeping his beloved friend into a full-on embrace.

Crushing Merlin's brow to the hollow of his throat, he whispered fiercely in his ear, " _Never_ kneel to me." His hold tightened impossibly, and he buried his face in the nape of the younger man's neck, "Not you. Not after all you've done for me."

"But I should," Merlin's protest was muffled, his breath warm and damp against Arthur's skin. "You _are_ the rightful king."

Arthur shook his head, increasing his grip on the short hair at the base of Merlin's neck.

"Only because _you_ taught me _how_ ," he whispered.

He pulled back, stroking a few loose curls into place as he sat on his heels.

"Thank you," he continued softly, running his thumb over Merlin's damp cheek, "for your faith has _become_ mine."

His best friend released a strangled laugh, bowing his head and intertwining their fingers against his cheek.

"It's no more or less than you have given me," Merlin murmured.

Arthur's protest was silenced by a low whistle from one of the knights, causing both king and warlock to blush as they were abruptly reminded of their audience.

Snapping his head up, Arthur readied a glare for the interloper.

Bors merely shrugged, smirking as he, Kay, Percival, and Leon joined them.

"You know it is what Gwaine would have done," he offered up instead.

Arthur kept his glare as he helped Merlin up, his best friend leaning down to snag Excalibur's hilt as they stood.

"Yes, and you have been spending _far_ too much time with him," he grumbled.

"Perhaps," Bors conceded with a tilt of his head and widening smirk as Arthur neglected to release Merlin's hand.

Kay rolled his eyes and lightly slapped the other man upside his head, a faint blush on his cheeks. But he, as well as Percival and Leon, wore varying looks of amusement as they, too, observed Arthur's actions.

The king took note that Merlin's own blush had deepened, but charitably chose to ignore it and did not call the knights out on their lack of decorum.

There was more at stake than their friends' rampant speculation. They were still a kingdom under siege, and something needed to be done about it.

He and Merlin could sort their new dynamic out later, _without_ an audience present to witness it.

"Where have you set up camp?" the inquiry was pointed, and although the knights noticed the clear diversion (Leon rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and Percival bit back a quiet laugh), they knew enough not to push it.

Leon sobered, and some nudging convinced the other knights to settle down, too, "Not far from here. We have pitched as many tents as we have on hand in the woods surrounding the garrison you set up this spring. Rumors have started circulating about a dragon sighting among the townspeople. Every man able to bear arms has been given a weapon from the garrison's stockpile. We had just begun to investigate when we stumbled across you and Merlin in this clearing."

Arthur kept his face carefully blank as Leon recounted what had brought them here. Merlin was not quite so successful, ducking his head to conceal a small smile.

The king released a faint sigh and gave his best friend's hand a light jostle, hold tightening imperceptibly as he acknowledged the fruition of Merlin's belief that they would find their people.

"How many are armed?" Arthur's query came as he drifted towards the edge of the clearing, gently pulling Merlin along.

The warlock rolled his eyes but adjusted his grip on Arthur and Excalibur both as they joined the knights in the semi-circle they had formed.

Arthur kept him firmly by his side, ignoring Leon's knowing smile at their entwined hands and the slight heat of his cheeks. By now their Head Knight was well-versed in disregarding the peculiarities of master and manservant's relationship.

"500 men and youths, Sire," he offered quietly.

"What are the number counts for the camp population?" Merlin's own question earned multiple startled blinks from Arthur and their knights.

Although Merlin was both an Advisor and a member of the Round Table, he usually conveyed his thoughts and opinions to Arthur in private. Arthur had relied on him so long for advice and support that he sometimes forgot his best friend now had the ability to express them in public.

Frankly, it was about time.

To his credit, Leon took it in his stride, "450 women…a number of whom have expressed a desire to fight, Sire."

Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgement of their request.

"300 children," Leon continued, "150 of whom are of age to be squires or pages. 175 graybeards and hoary heads, some of whom insist they are fit to fight, regardless of their advanced years…It is a fair number, Merlin. His Majesty's contingency plans held up, despite Morgana's onslaught."

That was a little under two-thirds of Camelot's total population.

It meant that the majority of his people had survived Morgana's invasion. Indeed, even escaped it.

_I didn't fail them after all…_

"…And more join us each day," Leon added, jolting Arthur back to the present.

He blinked rapidly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Merlin leaned hard into his side.

"You _see_ ," his beloved friend murmured, all but beaming, even if it was tempered by the knowledge that one-third of their people—Gaius, Gwaine, and Elyan among them—remained in Morgana's and Helios's clutches.

Unable to speak, Arthur nodded, drawing up and into himself as he attempted to strengthen his composure.

A nudge from Merlin's nose against his chin startled him, but before he had a chance to process it, Merlin had stepped away and towards Leon, continuing his line of inquiry, "What is the state of our provisions?"

Percival cleared his throat, causing both Merlin and Arthur to glance at him, "Enough to last another two weeks. Three or more, if we supplement our stores by foraging and hunting. There is a stream nearby—apparently uncharted—and it is clean, fed by a freshwater spring, so we have no shortage of water."

He adjusted his sling with a barely perceptible wince before continuing, unaware of the way Merlin's eyes darkened (as Arthur was) when he saw the reaction, "Herb stores are low, but a few of the midwives and the two apothecaries with us have been working to bring them up by gathering what they can from the woods. I am sure they will be relieved to see you, Merlin. There is a shortage of knowledgeable healers."

Arthur winced, fully aware that many who might have been healers were driven away by his father during the Purge. It was a troubling lack that he had begun discussing quite extensively with Gaius (and, to some degree, Merlin) before Agravaine came to court.

"That will hopefully be fixed soon," he murmured, the first tendrils of a half-formed plan curling in wisps at the back of his mind.

He earned himself a startled blink from Merlin, who turned to stare at him, brow furrowed by confusion, but he ignored it, not yet ready to share his thoughts with the present company until he solidified them. "Present company" included Merlin, who would have a rather large role to play if Arthur had his way.

"How many wounded?" he asked instead.

An exchange of glances among his knights. Arthur steeled himself, for such a look often meant bad news.

"…115 at last count, Sire," Bors spoke up quietly. "That does not include the dozen or so townsfolk who have come down with ague, due to too many nights spent sleeping outside without adequate protection. We do not have enough tents, and although we have begun to set up lean-tos and moved the injured into the garrison itself…we may have several fatalities before the moon wanes."

Arthur closed his eyes in sad comprehension. They had set up the garrison to accommodate their knights and any refugees, not the entire lower town. That would need to be remedied if they ever got the chance.

"It also does not account for the wounded and casualties we believe may be within Camelot itself," Leon added softly.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes flew open, feeling Merlin's grip tense on his hand, "… _What_?" he breathed.

"Apparently…" Kay's voice wavered slightly, alluding to the horror he felt, "Morgana has not taken dissent kindly. We've heard _stories_ …" Kay swallowed harshly, "from those who have managed to escape. They aren't…pleasant."

Arthur stiffened. Beside him, Merlin shuddered.

"What stories?" he asked quietly, certain he probably did not want to know.

Kay shook his head, drawing back and unable to articulate a response.

"...She's set up a fighting ring," Percival offered softly, when it became clear Kay could not go on. "Some of our best fighters must _brawl_ to earn their bread, for her own amusement. I would imagine Gwaine—if he is alive—has found himself in the thick of it. And that is not even the worst of what we have heard."

Arthur's stomach flipped, as his mind veered in directions he would rather it did not go, "…Has anyone heard or…or seen anything of him, Elyan, or…or Gaius?"

Beside him, Merlin's breathing sped up. He gripped his best friend's hand back tightly.

All four knights shook their heads.

"We have heard nothing, Arthur," Leon remarked softly.

Arthur blew out an unsteady breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Merlin touched his shoulder.

"…Arthur?" he murmured.

"Right," Arthur squared his shoulders. His eyes flickered open as he set his jaw and gazed down at Merlin, "We have some planning to do."

Merlin blinked back at him, slightly stunned. Around them, their knights drew themselves up, hope slowly lighting their faces.

He shot Merlin a roguish grin that did nothing to temper the steel in his eyes, before fixing each of his knights with a fiery look, "Who is ready to ride into the mouth of hell with me?"

"I am," Leon stated immediately, stepping forward.

"I am," Percival stated softly, shifting to stand shoulder to shoulder with Leon.

"…You know I am, Arthur," Kay gripped his shoulder, glancing pointedly at Bors.

…Who rolled his eyes, stepping forward to stand at Merlin's unoccupied shoulder, "You know _why_ I am," he stated, casting a soft smirk at Merlin.

Merlin had eyes only for Arthur, who felt his own prick at the unadulterated _pride_ that had begun to shine clearly from their depths.

"…I think you know the answer to that, Arthur," he whispered, pressing Excalibur's hilt into Arthur's open palm.

The king's fingers curled firmly around it (and, consequently, Merlin's fingers), before he lifted it up and shoved it into his now-empty-scabbard with a resounding ring.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Once he had assured their knights (and the scouting party with them) that they would join them shortly, the others headed back to the garrison.

Leon paused before following them, "Will you be all right, Sire? The dragon—if, indeed, there is one—is still out there…and there is only the two of you."

As Merlin did his best to bite back a laugh, Arthur raised an eyebrow at their Head Knight, the corner of his own lips twitching, "I will be with _Merlin_ , Leon. How can I _be_ any safer?"

Leon considered this, glancing at Merlin who had abruptly turned bright red. At last, he laughed, bowing his head in concession to Arthur, "True…"

While his best friend struggled to rein in his blush, Arthur smirked, "We'll be along this evening, Leon, if not earlier. I promise. We have Guinevere and two other fighters with us—we must meet up with them first."

A shift in their Head Knight's posture indicated his surprise (and a touch of relief), "Guinevere, Sire?"

Arthur pressed his lips together, mirth subsiding, "It is a long story, Leon, and one I would rather not share right now."

Merlin's hand curled around his upper arm. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut but nodded to his best friend in acknowledgement of the comfort, before turning back to Leon.

The older man eyed them thoughtfully, tilting his head as he considered their interaction. But at last, he bowed in acknowledgement, "As you say, Sire. Please do not linger too long: I think I speak for everyone when I say we would rather have you with us—we feared Morgana might have captured you and began to lay the foundations of a siege before the rumors of a dragon started up."

Arthur felt his eyes burn and his throat tighten as he read the weeks' worth of stress Leon had endured on his face. With little thought on the matter, he stepped forward and used his free arm to hug his Head Knight tightly, feeling the taller man start against him.

"…Thank you, Leon," he murmured against their friend's shoulder.

As he and Leon drew back, Merlin ducked in after him, hugging the older knight just as tightly as Arthur had before the man had a chance to recover.

"We're _fine_ , Leon," Merlin assured him, and Arthur watched as a subtle flare of gold in the warlock's eyes caused a particularly nasty-looking set of bruises along the opposite side of Leon's face to yellow, then brown, and finally disappear altogether, all within a matter of seconds.

With his face turned away from Merlin, Leon never noticed. Indeed, it was doubtful he even would have: "We feared for you, as well, Merlin," the older man murmured against the warlock's jerkin. "We knew if Arthur had been captured, you most likely would have been right there with him or trying to get him out. We hoped for the latter."

As Arthur joined them, Merlin squeezed Leon one last time before stepping backwards to stand next to him.

"It ended up being the latter," his best friend offered softly, casting a faint smirk at Arthur who rolled his eyes but dipped his head in recognition of Merlin's heroics that night.

Their Head Knight chuckled thickly, "Then I reiterate my sentiment from earlier, Sire."

While Merlin quietly turned red again, Arthur laughed and clapped Leon on the shoulder, "We will join you soon, Leon. Keep Bors in line, will you?"

"Only Merlin and Kay have managed that," Leon groused, but a smile tugged at his lips as he bowed to them. "I shall try my best, my Lords."

With that, their Head Knight straightened up and walked away to join the others waiting in the forest, leaving Merlin and Arthur to blink after him.

A moment later, Merlin eked out, "Did he just call me ' _my Lord_?'"

Arthur snorted out a laugh, mentally bringing his total number of allies on the list he had begun to compile for his half-formed plan to four, "Yes, yes I think he did."

While Merlin tried to fathom _that_ out, Arthur took a deep breath and turned to the younger man, gently tugging his best friend around to face him.

"Merlin…" he prompted, when it became apparent his manservant was having trouble reconciling Leon's reaction with a logical explanation.

Merlin blinked, and refocused his gaze, raising an eyebrow in inquiry as he took note of the blush suffusing Arthur's face, "What is it, Arthur?"

Arthur inhaled another deep breath, determinedly meeting his beloved friend's eyes as he proposed something he _knew_ would change Camelot's future for years to come, "How amenable would Kilgharrah be to acting as a transport for the others…a-and Gwen?"

He saw the moment Merlin registered what he was asking of him: to quit hiding, to reveal _all_ to _everyone_ and _damn_ the consequences.

Merlin gaped at him, unable to fully comprehend that Arthur wanted to do this _now_ , "W-Wait, transport as in _ride_ -?"

Arthur rolled his eyes fondly (if impatiently), still blushing, and tightened his sweaty grip on the other man's hand, "Of _course_. What _else_ would it mean, _Mer_ lin?"

Tension hung thick between them. Slowly dawning realization began to appear the beloved blue eyes as Merlin stared at him.

Just as Arthur began to regret even floating the idea, his best friend emitted a strangled, incredulous laugh and surged forward, nearly bowling the king over with the strength of his embrace.

Arthur released a startled _oof_ of air and stepped back, trying to stabilize them both as he wrapped his arms firmly around Merlin's waist.

Merlin laughed again, pressing their foreheads so closely together that they ended up breathing each other's air.

Finally, his beloved friend grinned—bright and uncontained—pure joy lighting up his face as he peered into Arthur's eyes.

"…I think we can persuade him," the warlock murmured.

_TBC_


	12. The King's Grace (Part 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which snobbish dragons meet overprotective knights, and it explodes into a long overdue reckoning as magic finally returns to the heart of Camelot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the single, longest chapter I think I have ever written (I am not joking), and that includes for my Narnia fics. I promise, I did read through it—multiple times—and every single scene has a purpose for being there. It is one of my favorites (even if I am too sleep-deprived to fully process that right now), and I had so much fun writing the different parts of it. As a result, maybe, it came out more light-hearted than I was expecting (don't worry, it still has enough angst to qualify under my tendency to write 'flangst'—fluff + angst). It's also quite plot-heavy, as it lays the foundations for upcoming chapters and events. Trust me, our characters are going to need this break ::sweat-drop::. Please enjoy, and Happy New Year!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 12)**

"…What about the drawbridge?"

Arthur's question was one in a long series of them that he had peppered their knights with almost as soon as they rejoined their people at the garrison.

(After first summoning Kilgharrah far enough away that the Great Dragon's sudden appearance would not cause undue alarm.)

So far, Merlin had listened quietly as they laid out a potential plan of attack, for the first time in over four months secure in the knowledge that Arthur would seek his counsel once they were through here.

Now he glanced down at the map of Camelot spread open in front of them and laid across Bruta's Stone, watching without a word as Leon moved several mahogany markers into place along the depiction of her curtain wall.

"Well manned," their Head Knight stated softly.

"As are the northern gates," Percival added, moving those pieces into place.

"The battlements on the south side?" Arthur tapped that empty location on the map.

Bors released a quiet sigh, moving several additional indicators into place, "Archers, at least twenty strong. Even if we _can_ breech the wall, she has an _army_ , Sire—"

"Getting in will not be a problem," Arthur muttered absently, examining the ring of defenders Morgana had set up for any potential blind spots or weaknesses, just as Merlin was at his shoulder, "Merlin will take care of it."

Startled, Merlin jerked his head up, "I am going to do _what_?" he demanded.

Around them, their knights stirred and exchanged incredulous glances.

Then Bors scowled and Percival frowned. Leon frowned, too, and opened his mouth, prepared to object.

But it was Kay who spoke, his response delicate and quiet, "Sire…Arthur…Merlin is but one man. Do you _really_ think…?"

Arthur finally seemed to take note of their reactions, frowning as he lifted his head and responded softly, "I am well aware of Merlin's limits, Kay. Of course…" and _there_ was his crooked smile, flashing over at Merlin who breathed a sigh of relief upon receiving it. Whatever crazy scheme his best friend had come up with, he had full faith in Merlin's ability to carry it out, "He won't be alone. There will be at least two others with him."

"Others, Sire?" if Bors's response came out a little too sharp, Arthur ignored it.

"I was hoping you might be one of them," he offered up instead, shrugging as he held his hands out, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture.

Frowning, Merlin raised an eyebrow, unsure exactly what Arthur had in mind. Although he and Bors both had extraordinary prowess with magical weaponry, they could hardly take on dozens of armed men when there were only two of them. Especially since Merlin suspected a large part of Bors's job would be to watch the warlock's back.

Bors seemed to think along the same lines as Merlin, for he held himself stiffly, "Of course I will go, Sire…but I would appreciate it if you were to elaborate on the nature of our assault."

The knight's response came out deceptively soft, his eyes sharp and cold as he regarded Arthur. Just as Merlin began to feel extremely anxious about the direction of this conversation, a maid suddenly burst into the clearing, her borrowed furs flying.

"My Lords-!" she gasped out, bent double with her hands on her knees as she struggled to regain her breath. "The dragon has been sighted!"

In the heartbeat between the shock of her announcement settling in and the knights galvanizing into action, Arthur grinned at Merlin, his expression pure mischief and so boyish that the warlock's heart gave a hard thud in his chest, "I was thinking an aerial assault might do."

IOIOIOIOIOI

How Arthur managed to convince their knights to cease and desist and, furthermore, let Merlin "scout" out this dragon on his own, the warlock did not think he would ever know.

It probably helped that Bors went from outright combative to utterly stunned by the implications of Arthur's announcement. Mostly, Merlin thought his tutor and the other knights may have been too shocked by the king's absolute confidence in Merlin's ability to handle himself when faced with a dragon to really object.

It was a type of autonomy Merlin had never expected, given how stubborn and protective his best friend tended to be when it came to Merlin's safety…and he thought the knights might feel the same.

It also left the warlock feeling slightly off kilter, especially on the heels of Arthur's decision to entrust Merlin with the responsibility of wrecking nearly the entirety of Morgana's defense forces.

Of course, there was the small matter of an _actual dragon_ to address first, at least with Gwen.

As Kilgharrah touched down in a nearby glade (still some distance from the garrison), Merlin found himself accosted by a whirling blur of curly dark brown hair, the hug more stranglehold than embrace:

"Merlin… _Merlin_ why didn't you _tell_ me you knew a dragon, let alone _two_? I would have _loved_ to meet a baby dragon! And the flight here was absolutely _amazing_! Kilgharrah said—oh, you _know_ his name is Kilgharrah, don't you?—he said dragons can cover the entire span of the _world_ in less than a sennight and-!" the breathless, delighted string of words burst out of Gwen as she did her damnedest to squeeze the breath (and an explanation) out of him. But he did not mind in the least. This was a Guinevere he had not seen in _months_ , ever since Morgana first disappeared.

He enjoyed having yet another dear friend slowly returned to herself.

Tristan did not look quite so sanguine as he helped Isolde dismount; in fact, the older couple looked faintly ill.

"Well, at least one of us enjoyed the ride here," the man muttered.

Their mount huffed, his scaled hide rippling with annoyance.

"It is not _my_ fault that some human bodies are unequipped for flight!" Kilgharrah grumbled.

Merlin laughed, finally returning Gwen's hug.

"How ever did you manage to get them to trust you?" he murmured, wearing a warm smile as he dipped his head in thanks.

Kilgharrah shuffled in something like embarrassment, "I— _may have_ —promised to explain how I came to know you."

…Which meant Gwen had had out the entirety of Kilgharrah's story—and probably Aithusa's, too—before she even _considered_ allowing the Great Dragon into their clearing.

Kilgharrah's demeanor seemed to confirm it, as he kept a respectful distance away from her and watched the younger woman with unreserved admiration.

Despite the heat creeping into his cheeks, Merlin snorted in amusement. He could only imagine what Gwen—non-magical and without any dragonlord ancestry as she was—had done to earn such a reaction from the ancient dragon.

Dropping a kiss on his friend's head, he murmured, sincerely, "You are _amazing_."

" _Merlin_ …!" she scolded, bright blush on her cheeks as she stepped back and lightly slapped his chest.

Merlin just smirked at her, lifting his head as Tristan and Isolde joined them.

"She was, though," Isolde put in warmly, smiling at Gwen (who blushed again).

Tristan was shaking his head, just as impressed, "What kind of court is Camelot, that their maidservants should wield a sword with as much aplomb and skill as a seasoned swordsman?"

Merlin laughed, giving his female best friend one last squeeze before releasing her, "A slightly dysfunctional one," he muttered. Then he raised an eyebrow at Kilgharrah, lips twitching, "Really, Kilgharrah? A _sword_? You've faced down entire _armies_ …!"

Kilgharrah drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster (which was quite a feat for a massive reptile who looked like nothing so much as a cowed dog), "And they did not have an _ounce_ of the same courage or determination this Lady does."

"High praise," Merlin informed Gwen with a wide grin.

(After all, there was a reason Arthur fell in love with her.)

She blushed and lightly slapped his arm, "Hush, Merlin."

The warlock sketched her a bow, "As my Lady commands."

Gwen rolled her eyes and poked him in the side, "You have some _explaining_ to do. Why didn't you _tell_ me any of this?"

Merlin's grin this time was a bit more sheepish, his cheeks a bit more flushed.

"I'll tell you soon, I promise," he murmured, squeezing her hand. "Right now, we should be getting back to Arthur. He's waiting for us in the next clearing over. Erm, he has several of the knights with him…" he trailed off, nervously eyeing her scowl and the hands she had fisted against her hips. He quickly revised his statement, "Or…uh…I can tell you on the way there…?"

Isolde smothered a chuckle as Gwen looked satisfied and let her hands fall from her hips.

IOIOIOIOIO

Although Merlin told Gwen only of his dragonlord heritage—and why he had hidden it, even from her—his female friend still watched him with unconcealed wonder for the rest of the afternoon.

In fact, Tristan, and Isolde—despite their own knowledge of such things—watched him with a little bit of awe (and a great deal of fearful reverence), too.

It made Merlin feel uncomfortable in a way he had not expected. Especially when Kilgharrah invited himself along to the rendezvous with Arthur.

_I've hidden for so long…I didn't expect—once I emerged in the light—for it to be so bright._

Arthur had not explicitly stated he should reveal himself. In fact, his best friend seemed content to let things happen as they would. But the king _also_ no longer made any effort to hide it.

Which had led to their current situation: Leon doing his damnedest to stare down a twenty-four-foot dragon and the twenty-four-foot dragon, for his part, looking down his snout at Camelot's Head Knight, utterly unimpressed.

 _Gods…did Kilgharrah just_ _**sniff** _ _…?_

"…I blame _you_ for this," stated with a groan as he firmly planted his face in his palms.

Arthur laughed, bright and unabashed, "Oh, come on, _Mer_ lin…you can't tell me that _that_ ," and his best friend jabbed his finger at the tableau unfolding in the clearing in front of them, "isn't one of the best things you've seen in _days_ …"

" _That,"_ it should be noted, was four of Camelot's finest knights locked in a staring contest with the massive reptile, varying degrees of shock plastered across at least three of their faces. Comprehension, however, was swiftly dawning—at least for Bors, who narrowed his eyes and glanced sharply at his magical protégé, before his gaze eventually settled on Arthur.

Mentally, Merlin groaned, _Sparring tomorrow will be_ _ **so**_ _much fun…_

Arthur lightly jostled him out of his thoughts, "Well, _Dragonlord_ …? This _is_ your territory…"

Merlin swung at him, which Arthur ducked with the ease of long practice. But a moment later, when his beloved friend came up again, the man grabbed his hand, startling Merlin enough that he did not immediately retaliate.

Arthur suddenly seemed much more serious as he straightened, and the intensity of his blue eyes pinned Merlin in place as he spoke, "If you really aren't ready for this, Merlin…"

Merlin swallowed and shook his head, blinking against the blatant concern filling Arthur's face at his continued silence.

"I _agreed_ to this, Arthur," he insisted softly. "I-I was never going to be _ready_ , but…if we want to defeat Morgana…"

Arthur gave a put-upon sigh that Merlin knew better than to take at face value, and offered the warlock his free hand (as the other had somehow wrapped itself around Merlin's shoulders), "I suppose I can be persuaded to accompany you…all in the name of chivalry, of course…"

Surprised, and more than a little touched, Merlin snorted out a laugh, taking the hand that his beloved friend held out to him, "I thought you said chivalry did not apply to your manservant."

He found himself graced by one of the most enigmatic expressions he had ever seen Arthur wear.

"Well…" the king's blue eyes glittered as he watched Merlin's cheeks steadily redden, "maybe I changed my mind."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin only started to process it much later that evening when he finally found the time to sit down on a fallen log and catch his breath:

He had never been busier in his life, and that _included_ during mid-winter, when illness often ran rampant in Camelot's lower town.

This was nothing like those cold, endless nights he had spent with Gaius, running tinctures, teas, and any other herbal remedies the elderly physician could spare door to door. This was a war camp, with dozens of wounded and undernourished refugees.

Then, as now, he had Gwen with him. But they had also had Gaius, who would have known exactly how to handle this situation, instead of Merlin, who felt like he was drowning.

And it was not only for his knowledge and experience that Merlin missed him.

The warlock swallowed harshly, grief roaring in his chest as he thought of his mentor, still missing and presumably within Morgana's clutches; she would not be kind to him, because he had chosen Arthur's side and not hers.

"Merlin…?"

At the soft voice, Merlin blinked his surroundings back into focus—it was now dusk, and the supper fires were burning. He glanced up to find Camelot's Head Knight seated beside him on the fallen log, green eyes glinting oddly in the twilight.

"…They whisper about you, you know," Leon murmured, nodding to the people around them, who gave knight and warlock a respectful berth.

Merlin tried to ignore the awe in their eyes, as they beheld him.

Swallowing, he rubbed his palms together nervously, "Do they?" whispered.

Leon hummed in confirmation, studying Merlin sidelong in the firelight, "Oh, yes…

"'Did you hear…? He's tamed a _dragon_!'

"'A dragon, you say? Well _I_ heard he tamed _two_ …no, no make that _three_ …!'

"'Well, _I_ heard he can speak their _language_ …!'

"' _No_ …!'

"' _Really_ …!'"

Despite himself, Merlin broke down into helpless laughter, touched to his core by Leon's overdramatization of the townsfolks' gossip (he even waved his hands around for emphasis).

_Guess I shouldn't have worried about his reaction, after all…_

Leon finally grinned, apparently pleased he had managed to elicit such a positive response from Merlin.

Merlin snorted, then smiled warmly, hoping the depth of his gratitude echoed in his eyes, "Well…nothing so unusual, then."

"Indeed," Leon chuckled, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulder before hanging his head forward and allowing his own shoulders to relax. "So…a dragonlord…?"

Merlin ducked his head and blushed, "Uh…yeah…"

"And I assume your Kilgharrah is, in fact, the Great Dragon that Uther imprisoned beneath Camelot…?"

"Well…he's not exactly _my_ dragon…and, um, maybe?"

"And you freed him three years ago…?"

"Possibly…" Merlin's voice ended with a squeak.

Loud, unrestrained laughter poured out in their clearing, causing quite a few curious heads to pop up from their suppers to regard Camelot's unusually boisterous Head Knight.

Merlin pouted, more embarrassed than intimidated now, as Leon seemed to find his revelation incredibly amusing.

As the older man's laughter died down, it drew Percival over to their fire, who sat on Merlin's other side, adjusting his sling with a wince, "What's going on, Leon? Come on, share the joke."

Merlin eyed him sideways, wondering if he should add another revelation to the half dozen (and more) he had already divulged today.

Leon smothered a final chuckle, "Nothing, as such. Just confirmation of a suspicion I have had for quite a while."

Merlin completely abandoned his internal debate over magic versus medicine.

" _What_?" he squawked. "You _knew_?"

Leon held his hands up placatingly, unable to quite suppress the twitch of his lips, "I had guesses only, Merlin."

"But—" sputtered.

Leon's face softened, "I was not so unconscious as you seem to think, Merlin, the night you faced the dragon."

Merlin rubbed his face with both palms, trying to stave off the impending headache.

 _We were_ _**so** _ _careful to keep it quiet…_

"…Why didn't you say anything?" he whispered.

Their Head Knight offered a faint smile, "Forgive me, Merlin…but I did not think it was the wisest course of action, considering Uther's ban on magic. Arthur would not have borne your loss well…and I did not wish to lose a friend."

Merlin found himself having to blink back the sudden heat behind his eyes. Gripping Leon's shoulder to steady himself, he murmured around a tight throat, "Thank you…"

Not quite trusting _himself_ to speak, Leon nodded, blinking back his own tears.

Perhaps sensing this, Percival cleared his throat.

Merlin scrubbed his hands over his eyes, before swallowing, "What is it, Percy?" he hoped the knight would ignore how his voice cracked.

Fortunately, Percival had always been discreet.

"Is it only that you are a dragonlord, or…?"

…Mostly. Slightly stunned, Merlin blinked at him.

_Is he implying…?_

The large man shrugged shyly, "I ask only because…well, Lancelot…"

Releasing a shuddering breath, Merlin attempted to gather himself together. He had full faith that Lancelot had never actually revealed his secret, but surely, before he died, during all the time he had spent with the man, Lancelot must have let a few things slip to Percival. Percy was keen enough that he would have read between the lines.

Merlin could contemplate his own, abysmal acting skills later.

"May I try something?" he whispered instead, reaching for the knight's injured arm.

Percy's eyebrows raised and he shot a glance over Merlin's head at Leon, who straightened imperceptibly.

"Merlin, what are you-?" the Head Knight began to ask.

He did not get the chance to finish. Almost as soon as Percival offered his arm (reluctantly—it _had_ to hurt, considering it had nearly been shattered by a mace), Merlin spread his hand and murmured, eyes flaring gold, " _Ge heale_ …!"

With a _snap_ , all splints and bandages burnt to ash. Stunned, Percy slowly unwrapped his arm, carefully rotating it as far as it would go to either side and releasing a small gasp when he found it still had its full range of motion.

Merlin rubbed his neck, cheeks burning, as he stared into the fire and pointedly refused to look at either one of them, "It will most likely be tender for a few days. I'd say let it rest…but we all know that's not an option. Just…be careful with it tomorrow night."

All that could be heard in response was the crackling of the fire.

As the silence stretched—and _stretched_ —Merlin swallowed harshly.

It was one thing to acknowledge his heritage as a Dragonlord. It was something else entirely to reveal—and in such an irrefutable manner—that he was, in fact, a _warlock_.

Finally, Leon spoke up, his fingers gently gripping Merlin's arm, "…Does Arthur know?"

He did not sound angry, only concerned, and Merlin mustered his courage enough to swallow again and raise his head. He gave a single nod.

A huge sigh of relief gusted out of the older man, "How long?"

Merlin swallowed and brushed his palms over his eyes, wishing he were not so prone to crying, "…Three years."

Leon drew himself up sharply, eyes wide, " _Three_? But that means…"

"…Right after Boris's coup," whispered in confirmation. His throat ached from the pressure of holding back his sobs.

Percival gave a soft grunt, tossing his arm—somewhat clumsily—over Merlin's shoulders. The squeeze he gave him nearly broke Merlin's ribs, but the sentiment was understood, and the warlock released a strangled laugh.

When he glanced up at Leon, it was to find the older man gazing back at him with an odd little smile playing at his lips, "…Does this have something to do with why Bors is currently bashing Kay across the training grounds behind the garrison?"

Merlin blushed bright red, "Umm…" responded intelligently.

The smile Leon wore widened, "And why over a dozen injured have left their pallets claiming to be fully healed?"

"Er…that is…"

"And why Guinevere has barely spoken a coherent sentence to you all evening…?"

"Uh…when you put it that way…"

Leon laughed, compassion and relief warming the sound, " _Merlin_ …they are not talking about the _evils_ of sorcery…they are talking about how _miraculous_ it all is; it is a miracle that they are even freely _speaking_ of it at all…!"

Merlin had long suspected many of the younger knights—like Leon, and Kay—had never quite agreed with Uther's purge, and when Arthur started taking a more active role in petitioning for fair trials (incidentally, _also_ three years ago), many had fallen in line behind their prince. How Morgana had _ever_ believed Arthur was remotely like their father—

"—And they will hopefully do so long after this battle is over."

All three jumped as Arthur entered their circle of firelight, two steaming bowls of stew balanced carefully in his hands.

Leon glided to his feet, swiftly adopting his mantle of duty, "Sire," he bowed.

Arthur shook his head, "At ease, Leon. And call me Arthur, will you? You have long since earned it by now." He placed one bowl in Merlin's lap, turning to his warlock, who futilely tried to scrub the last remnants of tears off his cheeks, "You are going to eat that," stated pointedly. "It has dried meat and root vegetables and was made specifically for you by Gwen. Don't think I missed how you skipped dinner this afternoon to tend to the wounded."

Merlin rolled his eyes but picked up the chunk of crusty bread that had come with it and dipped it into the stew with a muttered, "Yes, _Mum_."

Arthur cuffed him lightly upside the head, but Merlin was too busy devouring the rich broth to pay him much mind at first.

It was _good_ stew, as Merlin had known it would be—hearty and thick with a hint of the wild herbs Gwen must have foraged from the surrounding forest. He was halfway through his first bowl by the time he started listening to the conversation swirling around him:

"…Will you go to her, Leon? She has worked at least as hard as Merlin, and I am quite sure she has not had any supper, yet," Arthur had seated himself beside the warlock on the fallen log, their hips just barely touching, and Merlin suspected it might have been that which had distracted him from his hunger.

He made no mention of it to Arthur, however, hastening to thread together the parts of the conversation he had missed.

Leon stood uneasily beside their king, his hands behind his back in parade rest, "Sire…Arthur…are you sure? Oughtn't you be the one who-"

This conversation was about Gwen, Merlin realized, glancing quickly at his best friend.

_But why is Arthur…?_

Perhaps sensing Merlin's gaze, Arthur swallowed, leaning a bit harder into the warlock's side.

"I can't, Leon," he murmured, fiercely blinking back tears, "not right now. I-I hurt her too badly, a-and well…you've always been kind to her…"

Leon did not quite meet Arthur's gaze on that one, a faint blush crawling into his cheeks.

It slowly began dawning on Merlin what this might be about.

"She likes violets and bluebells," he offered softly.

Two startled gazes jerked to him. Merlin shrugged, "What? She _is_ basically my sister…"

_And if this cheers her up…_

Leon inclined his head in acknowledgement, a deep flush coloring his cheeks, "I thank you for the advice, my Lord."

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…How long has this been going on?" Merlin asked in a low voice a few minutes later, once Leon had left their fire.

Arthur shrugged, not quite meeting the warlock's gaze as he picked at his bread, "…Long enough. Honestly, I just started noticing today."

A large hand clapped Merlin's shoulder, causing the startled warlock to jerk around to face Percival, who levered himself up to his feet.

"Two years, four months, and seven days, give or take a few," the knight offered with a crooked smile. "Not that we were counting…"

Stunned, Merlin straightened up, "And he never _said_ anything to her...?"

Percival shook his head, another rueful smile curling up his lips, "He is loyal to Arthur, as you well know. I'd imagine he would have considered it treason to say anything more."

"I understand that," acknowledged softly. He slid Arthur a small smile, watching as his best friend stopped fiddling with the bread and dropped his head into his hands, stew balanced precariously in his lap, "We all are."

Arthur's head jerked up, obviously overhearing that last comment, and he flushed.

" _Mer_ lin…" muttered embarrassedly.

Merlin chuckled and Percival snorted in agreement, sketching a bow, "May I take my leave of you, Sire?"

Still willing back his blush, Arthur nodded, "Go ahead, Percy, and rescue Kay from Bors, will you? I can't have two of my best fighters black and blue tomorrow."

Percival smothered a laugh, "So I shall, my Lord. I had intended to head that direction, anyway. Should I send them to you, Merlin, if the situation warrants healing?"

"Uhh…" was all the pole-axed response Merlin could manage, his expression a little dazed and his own cheeks burning as he reminded himself, _Not hiding, anymore, remember?_

Arthur snorted, gently cuffing the warlock upside the head, and answered for him, "Do, Percy, if you think medical aid is necessary, although I think Bors would never intentionally harm Kay."

A second bow, this one to both Arthur _and_ Merlin, and Percival conceded with another chuckle, "Aye, Sire," before striding away in the direction of the garrison.

A moment later, Arthur's shoulder nudged Merlin's, "Sooo…" drawled. "Told them, have you?"

Merlin snapped out of it, scowling fiercely as his blush rose high in his cheeks, "Not. Another. Word," and he emphasized each word with a jab of his finger into Arthur's chest. "This was _your_ idea."

"And _you_ agreed to it."

Merlin snorted and muttered, rolling his eyes, "Yes, and now I'm starting to regret it."

Arthur's fingers interwove themselves with his own where they rested against the rough bark of the log, a knuckle on his free hand lifting to nudge up Merlin's chin, "And do you…? Regret it, I mean?"

Only because he knew Arthur so well did Merlin hear the faint tremor that underlaid the question.

"Of _course_ not, Arthur," he responded softly, squeezing the fingers tangled with his.

Arthur blew out a relieved breath, releasing Merlin's hand, " _Good_ …I-I hope you know I would never force you to—"

Merlin's hand interrupted him, gently pressing against his mouth, "I know, Arthur. _Really_."

Another exhale and Arthur nodded, shoulders relaxing. Two hands curled around the warlock's lower back, nudging him into Arthur's embrace.

Gingerly, Merlin set aside their two bowls, noting he would have to get Arthur to eat later, then he wrapped his arms around his beloved friend.

"…You know I need to be the one to confront Morgana, right?" Merlin spoke into Arthur's shoulder, sometime later.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on the nape of Merlin's neck and the small of his back.

"…I know," the strangled response came out a few seconds too late, "just as you know I'll have to be the one to confront Helios."

Merlin stiffened, his fingers tense and tight in the fabric of Arthur's tabard.

"…I don't want you to fight Helios, Arthur," he whispered, burying his face in the other man's shoulder.

Arthur snorted, gently pushing Merlin back far enough to glare at him, "And you think _I_ want you to fight _Morgana_?"

"That's _different_ ," Merlin insisted quietly. "Aside from Bors, I am the only one—as far as we know—who has magic. I am _Emrys_ , Arthur; I am the best weapon we _have_ against her…!"

Arthur growled, shaking himself loose from Merlin's arms to stand up and pace in front of him, "You aren't some sort of _weapon_ for me to use at my _whim_ , _Mer_ lin…! If we're going to do this, we're going to do this because _you_ honestly think it's our best hope and because _you_ agreed to it…!"

Arthur stopped his pacing, turning his back to Merlin as he fought to keep his temper under control, tense fists at his sides.

Merlin released a soft sigh, crooked smile flitting across his lips as he stood and shuffled their stew bowls to the side. Crossing the distance between he and Arthur in two strides, Merlin hesitated only an instant before sliding his arms around Arthur's waist and hooking his chin over his beloved friend's shoulder.

"…Well, it's a good thing I agreed to it, then," he murmured at last.

Arthur released a shuddering breath, relaxing in the warlock's hold, and Merlin chuckled softly, giving his best friend a tight hug as he nudged his nose against the king's neck.

"You worry too much," he whispered, pressing the words to the chain mail of Arthur's coif.

"With good _reason_ , _Mer_ lin…! And you say that as if _you_ don't already worry about _me_ plenty!"

Merlin chuckled again, lifting his head, and turned Arthur's face towards him. He brushed his thumb against Arthur's bottom lip and watched, amused, as a faint blush scrawled across the older man's nose, "It's my responsibility as your best friend to worry about you, Your Adorable Prattiness. You should have gotten used to it by now."

" _Mer_ lin…!" sputtered. "I am not in any way, shape, or form _adorable_. I-I'm the _king_ , damn it-!"

Merlin snickered, " _And_ you're flustered. That doesn't really help your case you know, Arthur."

Blush washed across Arthur's cheeks now, and the warlock laughed outright at his best friend.

Arthur huffed, apparently giving up their playful argument as a lost cause, and turned around in Merlin's arms, wrapping his own around the warlock's waist to reel him in.

Merlin released a startled _oof_ against his chest _,_ before snorting warmly and leaning their foreheads together for a moment of quiet companionship and reassurance.

"Come on," he urged at last, stepping back and reaching up a hand to toy with a loose strand of blond hair that had fallen in Arthur's eyes, "it's time to go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Easily, Arthur went with him, and Merlin made no mention of the broad hand that had reached down to clasp his own once more.

_TBC_


	13. The King's Grace (Part 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is reminded that nothing about his relationship with Merlin has ever been "simple" and he suddenly finds out that he understands Guinevere a little TOO well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently my muse has decided that this is too good a story to confine to just 16 chapters ::face-palm::. As of right now, the count comes in at 23, AT LEAST. Seriously, I did NOT anticipate writing another Keeping the Faith (Narnia fic) length fic. But considering my original fiction is probably going to come in at around 30 chapters, I suppose this isn't so bad ::sweat-drop::. Believe me, I am checking and re-checking, reading and re-reading to make sure everything I add to this story is necessary and advances either (a) the overarching story, (b) furthers Arthur's and Merlin's relationship, or (c) evolves their characters—AND I am having a blast while doing it :). I really hope you enjoy this chapter (as I did)—I completely did NOT anticipate the direction it went in. Enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 13)**

Already used to sharing their sleeping space prior to their arrival at the garrison, there had been no talk, last night, of separate bedrolls. Therefore, when Arthur woke early the following morning, it was to Merlin's groan and the shift of his best friend's body in his arms.

" _Bors_ ," complained softly, "leave off, will you? It's not even half-past the sixth hour of morn!"

Gravel shifted nearby, and a booted foot came into view, not-so-lightly nudging the warlock's shoulder where it pressed against Arthur's. A faint snort accompanied their knight's response, "We _should_ have been sparring _last night_ , my Lord. So if you would be so kind as to _get up_ …"

Another groan, but Merlin complied, his warmth leaving Arthur's front as he slowly sat up, grumbling under his breath about the early hour.

When a half-asleep Arthur attempted to move to accommodate him, Merlin immediately bent over and hushed him, pressing the king gently back in place against the thick leather of the bedroll, "Shh, sleep a little longer, Arthur. I'll see you at morning meal."

Arthur grunted something unintelligible that Merlin must have taken as affirmation, because the warlock eased out from underneath their shared blanket and spread its wool more fully over his shoulders.

Arthur's eyes, however, had flickered open by now—though Merlin seemed not to notice. He watched as his best friend shimmied into his hauberk and lady hawk jerkin, before the warlock scooped up his sheathed daggers on their belt and stood to follow Bors into the surrounding forest.

By that point, Arthur had woken enough to notice Bors's set jaw and darkened countenance. Alarmed by how much it resembled the ambivalent man Bors had once been, while Boris was still alive, Arthur waited until both men had left the clearing, before swiftly sitting up and yanking on his hauberk. His tabard and cloak went on over that, along with Excalibur on its belt.

Within moments he had followed his best friend, leaving the garrison behind him.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Bors and Merlin had already begun sparring by the time Arthur found them. Sticking to the shadows on the edge of the glade, he merely observed at first, watching as they limbered up by trading easy blows, and feeling more than a little foolish about his overreaction.

No evidence existed that this was anything other than a routine sparring match. But as he watched, the pace of their mock-duel grew increasingly more frenetic: Bors hit a _little_ too hard, his blade came a _little_ too close…

And before Arthur fully realized it, blow after blow began raining down on Merlin. Bors held nothing back—magic, weapons, physical attacks, magic _and_ weapons…he used them all, pushing Merlin to his very limits.

(To Arthur, who knew those limits exceedingly well, it was more than a little alarming.)

The final straw came when Bors blasted the ground at Merlin's feet with a concussive wave of magic that sent the warlock flying backwards into a nearby tree.

Merlin hissed, his entire body stiffening from head to toe as his back scraped roughly against the bark and he slid down to the ground, his daggers landing in the dirt as he lost his grip on their hilts.

Brutally reminded that barely 72 hours had passed since they confronted Agravaine, Arthur growled and threw himself forward, out from underneath the cover of the trees.

Apparently, Bors did not realize just how badly Merlin had been injured—if he had even really known at all. He froze for a tenth of a second in an attack stance, eyes widening, before he scowled and slammed Merlin back towards the center of the clearing with his arm.

Following it up with a hail of fire, the knight raised his sword in attempt to strike Merlin, but Arthur was already moving.

Lunging forward, he collided with his best friend, tucking them both into a protective roll. Such was their momentum that they finally rolled to a stop some 15 feet from Bors. Flinging his cloak up over their heads, he blocked the flames from landing and scorching flesh.

Merlin, who had landed beneath him, stared up at Arthur, unequivocally stunned.

But the king did not give his warlock (or _himself_ ) time to register that they were pressed together top to toe. Lurching to his feet, he spun around, Excalibur singing through the air he pulled it from its sheath.

The crash of his sword against Bors's rang out in the clearing.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The knight barely gave him a chance to recoup. Their blades screeched against each other as Bors whirled away and lashed out at the back of Arthur's knees with his boot.

Alert to this, since it was a favorite move of Merlin's, Arthur ducked aside and spun to slice Excalibur down at the older man's side.

Bors's eyes flashed silver and with a gesture of his hand he froze Arthur's blade mere seconds from impacting his flesh. A twist of his wrist and, to Arthur's shock, Excalibur was wrenched out of his grasp and sent pinwheeling towards the outer edge of the clearing.

It never made it that far.

Mid-flight it jerked to a halt, suddenly awash with gold, then reversed direction rapidly and spun back towards Arthur.

Stunned, Arthur ducked it, then reached a hand up to snatch its hilt out of mid-air. It thumped into his palm and settled there, just in enough time for him to swivel around and block an incoming blow aimed at his head from Bors.

The knight's sword was met by _three_ blades, for Merlin had finally rejoined the melee, his eyes a searing gold.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur forgot to breathe a moment, utterly distracted by their glow and its implications. Bors pressed his advantage (and Arthur's distraction), eyes glowing silver as his magic unleashed a blast of air that sent Merlin and Arthur tumbling backwards.

Lunging after Arthur, who was closer, he brought his sword whistling down at the king's head. Rolling away to avoid it, Arthur sprang to his feet and struck out at Bors's neck.

The knight blocked the backhanded strike, locking their swords together. He went to kick out at the king, but Merlin swiftly interceded, catching the man's booted foot and twisting it, so that Bors landed on the ground.

Stunned and winded, the older man lay still a moment, but Merlin was panting beside Arthur, clutching at his ribs and unable to follow up after landing badly on the ground. Alarmed, Arthur turned to him, forgetting that the knight had magic and was therefore still dangerous.

He barely had time to process Merlin's reaction before his best friend's eyes went wide and he tossed himself forward, knocking Arthur into the dirt. The rocks Bors had magicked to pelt them slammed into the ground around their heads, kicking up clods of soil, and _Arthur_ was the one on the bottom now, _very_ aware of all the places their bodies touched.

Before he could properly panic, Bors clambered to his feet and bore down on the two of them with grim intent.

" _Look out_!" it was the first Arthur had spoken since intervening and he did not have time to be gentle.

Tossing Merlin off him, he rolled them over and pressed down with his full weight, seeking to prevent Bors's blade from making any sort of contact with his best friend.

Merlin hissed, clearly in pain, but one of his palms thrust up from underneath the king's arm to block the knight's sword with a flash of gold, despite Arthur's best efforts to prevent it.

Bors flew backwards and crashed to the ground some distance away, unable to rise.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It took a few long seconds for Arthur's heartbeat to finally slow down. It still had not stopped its pounding when he gingerly pushed himself off Merlin.

"Are you all right?" he breathed.

They were both panting, faces close together, and Merlin was trembling, although whether from exertion, adrenaline, or something else entirely, Arthur did not know.

Eyes full of disbelief, he gazed up at Arthur. When he continued to say nothing, merely stare, the king grew worried.

"Merlin…?" he touched his best friend's cheek, pushing himself up so that his knees were planted on either side of Merlin's hips.

His touch seemed to register with Merlin, because abruptly, the warlock knocked his head back against the ground…and started cracking up.

Arthur's jaw slowly unhinged, " _Merlin?_ " He wondered if his best friend had gone quite mad.

Merlin continued laughing, apparently unable to help himself, "I shouldn't be surprised. I really, really shouldn't…"

Arthur pouted, realizing that something else entirely was going on and keenly aware he was practically sitting in Merlin's lap.

"…You absolute clot pole," Merlin finally gasped out, blue eyes dancing as they gazed up at him.

Arthur glanced away, sitting back on Merlin's legs, and crossing his arms over his chest with a huff as embarrassment flooded his face with heat.

Merlin snorted, then chuckled, still not able to completely quell his mirth, before reaching out to grasp Arthur's face between his hands.

"I was never in any danger," he murmured warmly, turning Arthur's face towards him.

Startled, Arthur jerked his head up, " _What_?" he breathed.

Merlin's eyes crinkled at their corners as he grinned and stroked a thumb against Arthur's cheek. However, before he could tease Arthur any further, Bors groaned and started to stir.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur swung his head towards the sound. When he saw Kay helping Bors sit up, his entire countenance darkened and he wrapped his fingers around Excalibur's hilt.

Snatching up the blade, he lunged to his feet before a startled Merlin could stop him and stalked over to the two men.

" _Stand aside_ ," he snarled at Kay, just as Bors's eyes blinked open.

Before a stunned Kay could react, a small explosion against his back stopped him.

"Arthur, _wait_ -!" Merlin's arms wrapped around his middle, effectively restraining him

" _Mer_ lin," he growled, "what the hell are you _doing?"_

"Stopping you from doing something you'll regret! He wasn't _attacking_ me, Arthur-!"

"Then what _was_ he doing, _Mer_ lin?"

"He was _testing_ me-!"

" _Testing_ you-!"

"Actually," the mild interjection came from Leon, who had also joined them and leaned against a nearby tree, "I believe he may have been testing you _both_. Is that not true, my friend?"

Arthur recognized his Head Knight's tone as one the man had often used on Uther, when his father was in a temper. However, his eyes were sharp as they landed on Bors and, as he left the tree to help Kay sit the other knight up, his hand was on his own sword's hilt.

Bors winced and sat up awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, "That was the idea—" he grumbled. His other arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. "I received far more than I bargained for."

Before Arthur could blink, Merlin's warmth left his back and his beloved friend dodged around him to kneel beside Bors. A spread hand and murmured spell, then gold flashed in their clearing, enveloping the older man.

Once the gold receded, Merlin sat back on his heels with a winded sigh. Bors glanced at him sharply.

"You did _not_ tell me you were wounded," he accused, but the knight's breath came easier.

"Neither did you," Merlin retorted shortly, shoving up the chain mail on the older man's right arm to reveal a blood-stained gambeson. Arthur recalled, belatedly, that Bors had favored his left arm during the combat.

The knight flushed, clasping his arm with his hand, "There were others who needed tending to more. I am fine now, my Lord."

Arthur sighed, leaning down to scoop up Merlin's abandoned daggers from the ground as most of his tension fled.

"You knew better," he stated softly, kneeling beside Merlin and handing them to the warlock as he spoke with Bors.

Bors flushed, still clutching his arm, "There are _quite a_ _few_ _things_ I should have known better, Sire, and I ask that you forgive me for making assumptions."

_He's speaking of Merlin's magic._

Arthur released a long, low breath. They probably should not have kept his knowledge of Merlin's magic a secret, at least not from this knight, who was overprotective of the warlock on a _good_ day.

However, before he could respond, Kay snorted, reminding Arthur that they were not alone, "Like not attempting what can be construed as treason, maybe, when Arthur is nearby?"

Bors flushed again. "Merlin knew what I was doing," he defended weakly.

"But Arthur _did not_ , which is the entire _point_ —"

With a sigh, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the flush that colored his own cheeks.

Merlin chuckled, inviting a glare from Arthur as his eyes flickered open. He spoke to Merlin, voice soft and sharp, "You should not have dueled before you were fully healed. We have a battle in _less than_ _14 hours_ , _Mer_ lin. _Tell_ me things like this—!"

Quite abruptly, he cut himself off, hearing in his own words an echo of Guinevere's two mornings ago.

He had never understood her more starkly than he did now.

Merlin seemed to realize that, for he gave a lopsided smile and reached out to touch Arthur.

"…Sorry," he murmured, shifting his hand to curl around Arthur's cheek.

Arthur blew out a troubled breath and slid his own up to grasp it, turning his face into Merlin's palm.

They sat that way a moment, before Leon cleared his throat, startling Arthur—and Merlin—who stiffened, glancing up with flush high in their cheeks.

Their Head Knight's grimace was apologetic, "Forgive me, my Lords…but we have a bit of a situation..."

"A situation…?" Arthur let Merlin's hand slip out of his own and stood, offering him a hand up. "What do you mean, Leon?"

Leon grimaced again and Kay offered dryly, helping Bors to his feet, "…Merlin _did_ level half the clearing."

Sure enough, when Arthur and Merlin glanced up, at least half a dozen trees lay scattered and uprooted around them. Several early risers were already making their way to the top of the rise from the garrison—Gwen, Isolde, and Tristan among them. And on the opposite side of the clearing, where the garrison's lands gave way to lush forest, Kilgharrah surveyed the scene with interest, his blue-eyed and white-skinned companion chirping away in wonder where she sat on his head.

Merlin turned bright red. "…I think we have some explaining to do, Arthur," he murmured.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Under normal circumstances it might even have been funny. However, Merlin's apparent lack of control spoke (to Arthur at least) of how slowly he was still healing.

"…To be fair," the warlock pointed out, after all concerned parties had been reassured and they had returned to the garrison to review their plan of attack, "I did not expect Bors to _also_ involve _you_. It…wasn't a terribly pleasant surprise. I don't react well when I think you are in danger, Arthur."

Arthur certainly knew that. But it did not stop him from glancing away, cheeks just as red as Merlin's.

Bors snorted, flattening one of the maps of Camelot's curtain wall that lay scattered across the table in front of them.

"You _should have_ ," he stated, "Morgana and Helios will certainly not hesitate to use you against him—nor _him_ against _you_ , for that matter."

Arthur bristled, fully aware of that.

Across from them, Leon nodded in agreement, despite Arthur's displeasure. He shrugged under Arthur's glare, "If your display this morning has proved anything, Sire, it is that we do not want to separate you and Merlin. Alone, you are formidable opponents. Together…" he trailed off, but the implication was clear.

…Together they had done something amazing. For all the terror and anger Arthur felt this morning, he had never been more comfortable heading into a pitched battle with the odds stacked against him.

This was what he had hoped for, when he first started training Merlin all those years ago. It was so much more than he could ever have imagined.

At the far end of the table, Kilgharrah cleared his throat.

Arthur started and, much to his surprise, found himself blushing, belatedly realizing that his gaze had drifted to Merlin where the warlock poured over a map of Camelot's Keep, Aithusa perched on his shoulders.

Alerted to the king's attention by his involuntary movement, Merlin glanced up at him, a tiny smile on his lips. Arthur flushed, and averted his eyes, even though they had been trading small glances like this all morning.

On his other side, Kay snorted, and muttered under his breath, "That is, if they can keep their attention on the mission itself half the time."

Arthur, of course, heard him, and leveled his childhood friend with a glare, cheeks burning. Kay, it appeared, knew exactly what was going on, even if Merlin himself was oblivious to it.

" _Ahem_ ," Kilgharrah cleared his throat pointedly and this time, _Kay_ flushed. "As I was _going_ to say…" Kay flushed even darker. Mollified, Arthur turned his attention to the Great Dragon, "In light of that, perhaps we should consider a slightly different 'pincer move,' as your Head Knight calls it," the great reptile nodded regally to Leon, "when the king storms the Keep…"

IOIOIOIOIOI

In the end, it was worked out that Merlin's and Arthur's groups would meet up in front of the Council Chamber, thereby preventing Morgana from making any hasty retreats. From there, they would break into the Chamber and do their best to prevent any guards she and Helios might have about from intervening.

"Tristan and Isolde, if they are willing—and maybe Gwen—would be ideal for that," Merlin had pointed out, once they came to that decision.

Arthur had hummed in agreement, slightly distracted by the sight of Aithusa—who had yet to leave Merlin's shoulders—contently chewing on the warlock's hair, and though Leon had agreed, he _also_ looked rather worried at the prospect of putting Gwen in danger.

Their Head Knight would have to learn—as Arthur had—that Gwen, at least, would not acquiesce quietly to staying behind.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, striving to bring his attention back to the present…just as Merlin's fingers lightly flicked his cheek.

"…Were you even _listening_ , Arthur?" the warlock demanded.

Startled, Arthur scowled at Merlin, " _What_?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, "I _said_ …" emphasizing the word, "that it may be necessary for me to be there _anyway_ …"

Right, they were discussing the plans for storming the Keep, the others having left only moments ago to prepare for the harrowing night ahead.

He exhaled, "Why do you say that?"

"We have no idea what type of wards Morgana may have in place," Merlin rationalized, "I may need to crash them."

"And what if they are intent wards?" Arthur demanded tightly, disliking the reminder that Merlin was the only one capable of facing Morgana.

"They won't be," stated with surety, as Merlin began rolling the maps up, "her magic is unstable. She won't be able to sustain them."

Unspoken was the fact that Merlin's magic _could_ ; it did nothing to reassure Arthur.

"Do you know that for a _fact_?"

Merlin gave him a crooked smile, moving to collect the battle markers left strewn across the table. However, before he could tease Arthur about his obvious worry, Kilgharrah spoke up, lumbering over to join them, "Wards—be they intent wards or otherwise—will not be a problem. Dragons can eviscerate them."

Arthur glanced over at Aithusa when she trilled in agreement from Merlin's shoulders, "Even young ones?"

Kilgharrah smirked, " _Especially_ young ones. It is a particular talent of theirs. Dratted annoying if you ask me," grumbled under his breath.

Merlin smothered a laugh as he stacked the maps and battle markers in their containers, smiling up at Arthur when the king came over to help him, "Gotten into your hoard, has she?"

Kilgharrah harrumphed but did not deny it.

Merlin snorted, reaching up to run a finger along the dragon kit's spine, "Nicely done, Aithusa."

Aithusa's responding trill was distinctly smug.

Surprised, Arthur barked out a laugh of his own, shutting the last map's case and deeply entertained by the baby's personality. It garnered Aithusa's attention, who twisted around on Merlin's shoulders to regard him curiously, head cocked to the side. Despite himself, Arthur could not help but give her a small smile, his initial wariness starting to melt away.

Kilgharrah's tail came up to gently thump Merlin across the backside of the warlock's head: "Do _not_ encourage her," the Great Dragon remarked dryly.

Merlin grinned, rubbing it, "Come now, Kilgharrah, I know you're secretly proud of her."

While Aithusa chirped and preened, Kilgharrah rolled his eyes, "I will admit to no such thing."

Chuckling, Merlin reached up to pluck Aithusa off his shoulders. Arthur watched with well-hidden awe as his best friend gently handled the baby, despite the warbling protest his actions elicited.

"We talked about this," the warlock reminded her, gathering the kit into his arms. "You need to stay with Kilgharrah. He knows what is best for you and can protect you in ways I can't right now."

Aithusa gave a plaintive mewl but rubbed her small snout against Merlin's nose in understanding.

Merlin chuckled, if a bit thickly, letting her perch on his hands, before she flapped off—a bit clumsily—to land on Kilgharrah's great snout with a _plop_. She gave a sheepish chirp, peering up at him.

The older dragon snorted, tossing his head to flip her up and onto the top of it, "Come, young one, dinner time for you."

At the renewed excitement of Aithusa's warbles, Merlin chuckled again and stepped forward, lightly rubbing Kilgharrah's snout, before bumping his forehead against the dragon's.

"Thank you, Kilgharrah," he murmured, sincerely.

Arthur followed him, quietly placing his arm around his beloved friend as he bowed to express his own gratitude: "I know you do not have any interest in debts, Kilgharrah," he murmured, straightening up. "But truly…I _am_ indebted to you. However I can repay you…know that I _will_."

Kilgharrah huffed, more than a little embarrassed, but he nudged both Merlin and Arthur in their turn, "Keep my Dragonlord safe, Arthur Pendragon, that is all _I_ would ask of you."

Gravely, Arthur bowed, a promise made implicit. Kilgharrah flapped his wings and took off, Aithusa squealing in excitement from her location on his head.

"I will see you tonight, Once and Future King!" called down to them as the Great Dragon disappeared into the horizon, swallowed by the afternoon sun. "For Glory and Camelot's Golden Age!"

_TBC_


	14. The King's Grace (Part 14)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiny has come to call...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this has officially become my longest chapter to date. A bit of worldbuilding here (as well as tying up of loose ends) :). I thought about separating it out, but the next several chapters will (hopefully) be jam-packed with action as the siege commences. To those of you who read Author's Notes, I don't normally do this, but I would like to know your thoughts about how it might be best to format the next few chapters: i.e. should I keep having Merlin's P.O.V one chapter and Arthur's P.O.V. the next? Or should I split perspectives each chapter? That is, each "section" of the chapter would switch perspective (which is how I used to write these stories). I have my own thoughts, and I already did a bit of experimenting at the end of this chapter. I don't guarantee I'll necessarily make the same decision, but I would like to hear your input! I also hope you really enjoy this chapter—I think it has the potential to become one of my favorites :). Please enjoy!

**VIII: The King's Grace (Part 14)**

Merlin's shoulders slumped once Kilgharrah and Aithusa had flown out of sight. Sighing, he rubbed his face, attempting to stave off the headache that threatened to form.

Trust Arthur to notice.

"Merlin…?" the king's arm tightened around his shoulders.

Merlin groaned, sliding his hands down to the nape of his neck and tilting his head back, "I wish I didn't have to involve Aithusa. But this is the only way to ensure she won't wander off and get tangled in things beyond her ability to handle."

Arthur snorted warmly, "That troublesome, is she?"

He used the arm he had wrapped around Merlin's shoulders to steer them in the direction of the fire they shared with Gwen. Around them, their people's own fires flared to life as they began to prepare the evening meal.

In response, Merlin groaned again, vigorously rubbing his neck, "You have no _idea_ …"

Arthur chuckled and fell silent, nudging him to the right as they navigated their way through camp.

About halfway to their fire, the king suddenly blurted, "Can I help you?"

Merlin blinked at him, slightly stunned.

Arthur flushed, attempting to clarify, "I mean…can we bring her to Camelot? We could arrange _something_ …"

"What do _you_ know about raising a baby dragon?" Merlin laughed, twisting beneath Arthur's arm to peer up at his best friend, gaze warm and somewhat incredulous.

 _Surely he must be_ _**joking** _ _…_

The red on Arthur's cheeks blossomed, "Not much," he admitted sheepishly. "But I could learn—"

… _Or perhaps he's not._

Merlin paused, taking note of Arthur's growing blush, "…You're _serious_ ," stated with no small amount of wonder.

Arthur flustered, "Of _course_ I am, _Mer_ lin."

"But…the ban-" stammered.

Halting mere feet from their fire, Arthur tugged Merlin around to face him, hands slipping down to the warlock's shoulders, "—Can be lifted." A hand lifted to cradle Merlin's cheek, "Our people know you have magic. That was made rather apparent by our practice early this morning and your antics yesterday. It's really just a matter of logistics and trying to convince certain stubborn councilors. Honestly, I'm half tempted to banish the lot of them…"

As Arthur trailed off to muse on the least obvious ways to get rid of crochety old councilors and make it look like an accident, Merlin turned his face into the hand against his cheek and whispered, "…You don't want to do that."

His reaction caught Arthur's attention and the other man grinned, "Why, _Mer_ lin…" drawled, "are you _shy_?"

…And just like that, things returned to normal.

Merlin soundly thumped him, blush high in his cheeks, "Look who's talking, _oh_ _high and mighty king_!"

Arthur laughed, fending off the half-hearted attack, and grinned, boyish and with a _definite_ flush highlighting his cheeks.

However, before Merlin could retaliate, he found himself yanked into a tight hug, Arthur's shoulder smothering the surprised sound he made.

"…Arthur?" the warlock murmured against the fabric.

Arthur's arms tightened around him, "…I told you three years ago that you'd be safe," the older man remarked softly in his ear, "that things wouldn't be how they were _forever_ …I don't intend to rescind my promise now."

"Arthur…" Merlin shook his head, stepping back to rest his hands on the king's arms.

A throat cleared delicately behind them before Merlin could say anything more.

Merlin and Arthur jerked halfway apart, glancing up to find Isolde eyeing them with great interest where she lounged against one of the logs surrounding their fire. The smuggler held herself stiffly, but overall looked much better. The knowing smirk tugging at her lips may have leant that impression, but she was not the traveling companion that caught their attention.

Sitting on another log beside the stew pot bubbling over the flames, an unamused Gwen glowered at them, arms crossed over her chest.

As Merlin flushed to the roots of his hair, Arthur groaned.

"Don't look now," he whispered to Merlin as he released him, "but I think Gwen has decided to do battle with us."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Over what, it soon became clear:

"… _Why_ are you trying to convince _me_?" Merlin groaned as he banked the ashes of their fire around the stew pot. "I am fully _aware_ you are more than capable of handling yourself in battle!"

"Because _you're_ the only one anyone ever listens to!" she exclaimed. Gwen's pique was up, and unfortunately, Merlin found himself faced with the task of diffusing it as neither Isolde, seconds away from dissolving into laughter, or Arthur (who looked much the same) were of any help.

Glaring at Arthur for his badly concealed amusement, Merlin gave long, drawn out sigh, "If I can't even convince _this_ lug," and he lightly kicked Arthur's boot as he sat beside him on the log, "to listen to me, I'm not sure how you came up with _that_ idea."

He expected Arthur to scowl and yank his boot away (it was what his friend usually did in moments like this). But Arthur did nothing of the sort.

Instead, he grimaced in what looked a lot like _guilt_ and finally entered the fray with Gwen, much to Merlin's surprise:

"Honestly, I'm not sure _why_ you think you need to convince us," the king kept his response careful. "Both of us know how deep your courage runs and how skillfully you wield a sword. We have known that for many years. _We_ aren't the ones you need to convince, Gwen…"

…Merlin could not think of a thing to say. Not because he disagreed, but because he never would have expected _Arthur_ to articulate it so _well_.

Clearly, neither had Gwen, because absolutely all the air went out of her and she eyed him speculatively, rather surprised.

Looking incredibly uncomfortable, Arthur glanced away to stare into the flames of their fire, rubbing the back of his neck with a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Seconds later, Gwen's face softened, and she looked inexplicably _proud_ of him.

"Who do I need to convince, then," she remarked softly, "if not you, the king?"

Merlin held his breath, waiting to hear how Arthur would respond. Across from them, Isolde observed Gwen and Arthur's interaction just as keenly.

Somehow, Arthur and Gwen had reached this point on their own. Whatever Arthur said next would determine the course of their relationship from here on out.

Taking a deep breath, the king pressed his knee against Merlin's. Glancing up for a split second to meet the warlock's surprised blue eyes, he moved his gaze to Gwen, then—further beyond her—to Leon, who was hesitantly making his way towards them from the opposite end of camp, near the woods.

Gwen followed Arthur's gaze and promptly blushed, but nonetheless tilted her chin up, giving a firm nod. Squaring her shoulders, she set off to meet their Head Knight halfway, eyes falling to rest on a brightly colored bundle partially concealed behind the man's back.

Merlin had a feeling he knew what it was and confirmed it a moment later when Gwen found herself intercepted by a handful of bluebells that Leon presented to her, utterly unaware of what he had just managed to diffuse.

Any remaining ire on Gwen's part quickly fled as she accepted the bouquet with wide eyes, a sweet flush on her cheeks. Touched, she smiled slightly and dipped her nose to inhale the scent of the blossoms.

"Why doesn't that work for _me_?" Merlin groused, watching the two of them head off as they spoke quietly to one another. Even from this distance, he could see a hue of red coloring Leon's cheeks as he tilted his head down to listen to her.

(Gwen was still a fighter, no matter how sweetly her temper might have been interrupted.)

"Because she doesn't fancy you, maybe?" Arthur snorted, even if he did look a bit forlorn.

"She fancied me _once_!"

Arthur glanced over at him, arching an eyebrow, "Oh, were you actually _aware_ of that? Morgana and I didn't think so."

Merlin scowled, a faint blush of his own washing across his cheeks, and kicked out at Arthur once more, "For your _information_ —"

…And got interrupted by Isolde's hastily smothered snort of laughter.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, as Merlin and Arthur blinked at her. "I'm sorry. It just…it sounds like I would have enjoyed knowing the three of you when you were younger."

"…You could have," Tristan spoke up from behind her, causing Merlin and Arthur to start. He smirked at them, half-apologetically, and placed a new pile of wood close to their fire. "We _both_ could have," added a touch ruefully, as he leaned over to hand Isolde his _own_ bouquet of flowers.

She stared up at her partner in surprise, accepting them, "Why…what are these for?"

Tristan shrugged one shoulder, a smile quirking up the corner of his lips as he sat down beside her, "Just because."

A small flush worked its way across her cheeks as she followed Gwen's example and buried her nose in their fragrant blossoms.

Merlin's face softened as he watched the two of them, but Tristan's response seemed to have caught Arthur's interest:

"What do you mean… _'could have?'_ I…forgive me, but I do not believe I had heard of 'Tristan and Isolde' before we first met. Are you…nobility? I had suspected, but…"

Merlin gaped at him.

 _Of_ _**course** _ _…if Tristan is nobility…he would have had access to_ _**exactly** _ _the kind of texts needed to learn about the Dragonlords._

Tristan released a faint sigh, exchanging a glance with Isolde, who gave him a tiny smile and a nod over her flowers.

"A compromise, then," Tristan agreed softly, turning back to Arthur. "A tale for a tale. What say you, King Arthur?"

Arthur looked distinctly more wary and Merlin nervously rubbed his palms against the fabric of his breeches.

"What are you proposing?" the king asked.

"I will tell you our story…if you explain exactly _who_ this Morgana is that you are intending to fight."

IOIOIOIOIOI

(An Hour Later)

"…Morgana was my father's ward when we were growing up," Arthur murmured, scraping at the sides of his stew bowl. "She came to Camelot when I was 11. Her…father at the time had passed away. If you are indeed nobility…you would have known him. Gorlois?"

Arthur stared into their fire as he began the story even Merlin had not heard, resting his half-empty stew bowl in his lap. Across the fire from them, Isolde and Tristan listened quietly as they ate their own stew.

"We had where I am from, yes," Tristan acknowledged, but Isolde shook her head.

Intrigued, Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, but continued, shifting his hand to nudge it against Merlin's resting on the log between them, "I didn't realize it at the time…but my father had had a fit of conscience and brought her in to live with us."

Taking the wordless hint, Merlin gently interwove their fingers, offering support in the only way he could right now.

Relaxing imperceptibly, Arthur tangled their hands together, "I was an only child and had never had any siblings. We…did not get on at first, she and I. We both had to adjust, never having had to share space with another before. It did not help that my father was outrageously partial and utterly dismissive of her intelligence in turns. He never _could_ treat her with any kind of consistency. Perhaps that is why she rebelled as she did…" he trailed off to muse on it, a bit bitterly.

 _If that is the case_ , Merlin thought quietly, _it explains much of the interactions I observed between her and Uther when I first came here. Never mind the fact that he never told her he was her father…or even breathed a word of it to Arthur._

"What changed?" Isolde's question was soft, and she set aside her empty stew bowl at her feet.

Arthur released a tremulous sigh, tightening his grip on Merlin's hand, "There was an attempted coup against my father."

Against him, Merlin started, knowing _exactly_ which coup his best friend referenced.

Arthur raised his eyes from the fire, locking them onto Merlin's as he sought to ground himself, "We were only fourteen. She took care of me after I had been injured in the attack."

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, understanding what Arthur _had not_ admitted to: _Gods…no_ _ **wonder**_ _he would not hear a word against her until I showed him evidence of what she had done. To suddenly have had that, after years of living with a distant Uther…_

"It helped that, at the time, she had just gotten a new lady's maid," Arthur murmured, returning his attention to Tristan and Isolde.

By the gradual widening of their eyes, Merlin could tell they had made the same connection he had, "…Guinevere," he stated with certainty.

Arthur glanced at him…and nodded, before dropping his eyes to the stew bowl in his lap, briefly overcome by the memories.

Gingerly, Merlin removed the bowl from his grasp, setting it on the grass next to his already empty one.

"You have _got_ to eat more, Arthur," he muttered.

Too close to him not to hear, his best friend snorted softly, "Who is mothering _now_ , _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, elbowing him gently in the ribs. But then he let his shoulder rest there, just beneath Arthur's, and placed his chin against the cold chain mail, arching an eyebrow up at his king.

Arthur nodded to him, indicating he was fine. Merlin rather doubted it but chose not to call the other man out on it.

Arthur sighed, doubtless aware of Merlin's choice, but turned back to their enraptured audience, "That was the start, I think, of our friendship, though I did not know to call it that at the time. We continued like that for the next three years—sometimes at each other's throats, sometimes each other's only ally. It did not coalesce into anything more substantial until Merlin came to Camelot when I was seventeen. After that…I finally knew to call her—and Guinevere—my friend," completed softly.

It was accompanied by the same look he had given Merlin in Excalibur's clearing two days ago, when Merlin had fallen to his knees and proclaimed him the rightful king—too full of humility and awe to be properly expressed in words.

Overcome, Merlin lowered his own gaze, tracing his eyes over the stitchery of his breeches. He felt Arthur's hand slide out from beneath his and saw it come up to squeeze his knee.

Swallowing, he glanced up to find his best friend watching him, edges softened, and blue eyes turned copper by the sun's fading light.

Isolde cleared her throat, "Well…" she sounded abashed, "our story is not near so profound I am afraid."

Arthur made a sound that was halfway to a strangled laugh, turning his attention back to the smugglers, "I haven't finished, yet, but the next part…is rather hard for me to share, so I would welcome speaking of something different for a while."

Isolde glanced over at Tristan, raising an eyebrow. The man nodded and glanced at Arthur, "A fair trade," he agreed. "As you surmised…we are, indeed, nobility. Though I do not often like to claim so. King Mark of Cornwall is my uncle—and adopted father. Our relationship is…not what it was when I was younger. Had I stayed on with him, I may have indeed met you some years back. He and your father set up a parley just after you turned fifteen, I believe."

Arthur nodded. Clearly, he remembered it.

"You were not in his entourage," murmured. "I would have remembered you, had you been."

A crooked smirk lit up Tristan's face, "I will take that as a compliment."

Merlin chuckled as Arthur blushed, but noted his friend did not refute it. Skills such as Tristan's would not have gone unnoticed by the future Crown Prince of Camelot.

Tristan's smirk dimmed somewhat, "But as it happens…I had left my uncle's court just the preceding spring to travel to Eire at his behest."

"Eire…?" Merlin jaw loosened slightly. Even in Ealdor—two days' journey from the sea as it was—they had heard of Eire, and its mythic land. Merlin had been more taken by those stories than most, because of how steeped in magic the tales had been.

Isolde chuckled at him, clearly aware of his thoughts on the matter, "Yes, Eire. I am from there, after all. I would have met you, Arthur, in one of two ways: as a princess of Eire…or as the wife of King Mark." She smiled sadly at Merlin's appalled look, "Yes, Merlin, I was betrothed to Tristan's uncle. Royalty…we do not usually have much choice about who we are to marry."

Merlin knew this, he had seen Arthur through at least two near-marriages that would have left his best friend desperately unhappy. This only solidified his belief that—in some ways—royalty was absolutely mad.

Arthur snorted, albeit a bit ruefully, all _too_ aware of Merlin's thoughts on the matter and able to fill in the gaps far more easily now that he had a bit of a backstory, "I think I know what happened…but I need to confirm it. Tristan was sent to escort you to Cornwall, correct?"

Isolde smirked at him, "Correct. I was willing, at first. You know better than anyone the obligation a princess—or prince—feels to their land and people, Arthur Pendragon. You would not be planning a near-suicidal assault on Camelot otherwise. But…then I met Tristan. My father held a tournament of arms to honor (what he saw as) the sealing of the pact he made with King Mark. Tristan, of course, was invited to participate." She gave her partner a gentle—and a touch besotted—smirk, "He won the tournament, and I was suitably impressed. I tried to convince my father to change the terms of the pact so that it was Tristan I married, instead. I argued that, as a ward of the Cornish king, he was as much royalty as his uncle was. My father, naturally, did not see it the same way."

Merlin lifted his head from where he had been listening to her, mesmerized by the pictures she brought forth in her narration, and now glanced at Tristan, "So when you said the way I defended Arthur reminded you of the way Isolde had defended _you_ …"

"This is what I was talking about," Tristan agreed with a lopsided smile.

"So, what happened?" Merlin asked, though—like Arthur—he already had a guess.

Tristan met Isolde's eyes, who held his gaze and gave him a _completely_ besotted smile, "…We fell in love," the knight errant concluded softly.

Isolde smirked, then laughed, turning back to Merlin and Arthur, "Not at first," she conceded. "At first, it was still mainly obligation…with a bit of attraction mixed in, as well as the hope that…maybe…I could choose my own spouse. My father had never felt the need to curb my actions, but on this he was firm. So I agreed—with the thought that, perhaps, I could convince Tristan to take my side in the matter once we met his uncle. But, well…"

"…It was a harrowing journey from Eire to Cornwall. Two days tossed about on the sea, three days' trek through unfamiliar territory after being blown off course to Wales and from thence into Snowdonia, which we had to walk the entire length of before finding ourselves in Gloucester. Only then could we navigate into Somerset and beyond that into Exeter, finally arriving over a month after we were originally due in Cornwall," Tristan admitted, finishing the thought. "In that time, naturally we grew a great deal closer. By the time we met my uncle…I very much wanted Isolde as my bride."

"Your uncle, I take it," Merlin sighed, "did not agree."

Tristan gave a short, slightly bitter laugh, "Not at all."

It explained _so_ much of his early interaction with Arthur—even if it did not excuse his actions (in Merlin's mind).

For Arthur, however, it seemed to, as the king reached out his free hand to clasp Tristan's arm across the fire. He included Isolde in the genuine smile he bestowed upon the knight, "Someone very wise once told me…" Arthur slid his smile over to Merlin, "people should marry for love. And that an unhappy king—or queen, for that matter—does not make for a stronger kingdom."

Moved, Merlin ducked his head, brushing his palm across his eyes and swallowing harshly.

_Did I…what I said then…did it really-?_

Arthur smiled at him—crooked and endearing, squeezing the knee he still held, and turned back to Tristan and Isolde, taking a deep breath, "Understand, you are under no obligation to say 'yes' to this—it will be entirely your choice, I promise—but…would you consider allying yourselves with Camelot…and with us? I know your skills…and we need any willing fighter, if I'm honest. Your story just now…it also made me think I would very much like to have you as long-term allies. I know you may not be able to officially promise your allegiance, but I do not particularly care about that—"

An incredulous laugh from Tristan interrupted Arthur, but before Merlin's hackles could be raised, the knight exchanged an equally disbelieving glance with his lover, turning to the warlock with the lopsided grin Merlin had begun to recognize as Tristan at his most sincere: "You were right," the man admitted, in not so little awe. "He is _nothing_ like the kings I have come to know."

"The answer, King Arthur," Isolde put in with a tender smile, as the two men tried to grapple with _that_ revelation, "is yes. Yes, we will ally ourselves with you. For this battle…and hopefully, for many years of prosperity yet to come."

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…That was amazing, what you did with Tristan and Isolde," Merlin admitted softly, helping Arthur buckle into his plate armor three-quarters of a candlemark later.

"Well," a slight flush colored Arthur's cheeks as Merlin tugged his chain mail straight, "I meant it. They are incredible people."

Merlin smirked in agreement, brushing Arthur's hair away from the chain mail links as he lifted his king's coif over the man's head and set it on a nearby table, picking up his breastplate to settle it across his shoulders.

They were in the garrison's armory, Arthur having dragged Merlin there once twilight fell and preparations for the siege were well underway.

 _We never did finish their story—or ours, for that matter,_ the warlock thought quietly, reaching beneath Arthur's arms to buckle his breastplate into place over the plackart around his middle.

Perhaps that had been done deliberately. There was now the hope of "after"—after the siege, after Camelot had (hopefully) been reclaimed, after Morgana and Helios had been defeated…perhaps then there would be time to sit, and speak, long into the night as the new allies acquainted themselves.

_And perhaps then I will be able to speak with Arthur, about all we've kept hidden._

Merlin released a soft sigh, moving to pick up Arthur's left pauldron from the rack beside them.

"Merlin…?" he felt his best friend's hand touch his back, conveying his concern with a single gesture.

Merlin smirked crookedly, turning around to fasten the pauldron to Arthur's shoulder, "It's nothing, Arthur…just a stray thought."

Arthur gave a half-hearted snort, conveying his skepticism and attempting to lighten the atmosphere all at once, "And what have we said about your thinking process?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, reaching for the other pauldron and securing it in place over Arthur's right shoulder, "That it's dangerous and I should engage in it only rarely?"

" _Exactly_."

"Of course, in the same breath you've also accused me of not thinking _enough_ …" Merlin pointed out, reaching for the coif again.

" _Mer_ lin…!" scandalized. "When have I ever done _that_?"

The warlock yanked the chain mail hood down over his best friend's head (and momentarily contemplated leaving it there), "A little over two weeks ago, when you were after me about adding another hole to your belt."

When Arthur face emerged, a fetching blush had colored his cheeks, "Oh. Right."

Despite himself, Merlin snorted, which quickly dissolved into soft laughter at the sheepish expression on his beloved friend's face.

It got interrupted when Arthur's warm hands came up to cradle either side of his jaw.

Surprised, Merlin glanced into the blue eyes now within two hands' span of his own.

"Arthur…?" he murmured.

Arthur brought their foreheads together and breathed, resting his brow against Merlin's, "I have something for you. It's been here for a while. I wasn't sure if you'd ever need to use it."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat. Gift exchanges were hardly common between them, taking place only on Yule and Conception Days.

Drawing back far enough to tug at Merlin's arm, Arthur led him to the far end of the table that still held the king's vambraces and gauntlets.

A nondescript mahogany box sat there, and at Arthur's urging, Merlin carefully lifted the lid back on its hinges.

…It was armor. Specifically, it was hand-tooled leather armor, embellished with an unmistakable series of accents and symbols unique to the Dragonlords. There was also a single, shingled spaulder, not quite so intricately designed as its counterparts in the box, but beautiful with its contrasting leather hues and undeniably well-made.

_**Dragonflight armor.** _

Merlin fell back from the box with a gasp, unable to comprehend how Arthur had even _found_ this, with the Dragonlords all but extinct.

" _How_ -?" his voice cracked and gave way.

Of all things, Arthur looked _embarrassed_ , scratching the back of his neck as he glanced away from Merlin's wide eyes, "I, ah…did some research, with Geoffrey's help. My father destroyed Balinor's dragonflight armor, but Geoffrey had hidden away some sketches my mother had drawn of it, when she first met him," for a split second, longing at the memory of Ygraine flashed across Arthur's face before melting into a crooked smile as he finally met Merlin's eyes. "Your armor is an exact copy of your father's, as near as Elyan and Gwen could replicate it. With one minor difference."

He lifted the spaulder from the box and turned it to fully face Merlin. Hesitantly, his hand shaking, the warlock reached out to brush his thumb across the engraving of a merlin branded into the top shingle.

"Fit for Camelot's Lady Hawk, I think," Arthur murmured, eyes bright as he beheld Merlin's reaction.

A strangled sound emerged from behind the hand Merlin had pressed to his mouth, half incredulous laugh, half overwhelmed sob.

That Arthur had even gone _through_ the effort of acquiring this—

"…You have an affinity for grand gestures, don't you?" Merlin choked out.

Arthur's thumb came up to trace Merlin's cheekbone as he stated quite seriously, blue eyes intense, "When it comes to you? Yes. Absolutely."

"Show off," the younger man murmured thickly, shutting his eyes, and turning his face into the caress.

Arthur snorted out a surprised laugh, gently tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Merlin's head as he brought him into a sort of half-hug, "Well, I needed _some_ way to balance out getting repeatedly saved from certain death."

A strangled chuckle and Merlin raised his face from Arthur's palm, letting his best friend's hand fall to cup the side of his neck as he gazed up at him, eyes overbright, "Arthur…this goes beyond a mere 'thank you.' This is—"

"—Long overdue," Arthur interrupted, softly and earnestly. "I was serious when I said you no longer needed to hide, Merlin. Even when I commissioned this, I had hoped—one day—to see you wear it openly and proudly." He took a deep breath in, and not an entirely steady one, at that, "I am hoping today might be that day."

"…You _know_ I can't say 'no,'" Merlin whispered, tugging the spaulder out of Arthur's grasp.

Arthur's fingers lightly entrapped his own.

"Let me," the king entreated, reaching for the first piece of armor.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin and Arthur finally emerged from the armory fifteen minutes later, fully-suited up, to find Kilgharrah and Aithusa waiting outside with Leon, Bors, and their core group of knights—including a beaming (and equally kitted out) Gwen, who stood between Tristan and Isolde.

When Kilgharrah caught sight of Merlin in the flickering torchlight, he huffed out a ring of smoke, most impressed, "Well," stated gruffly, "that's more like it. You look like a proper Dragonlord now."

While Merlin blushed, Aithusa chirped approvingly, skittering down the older dragon's snout to launch herself at the warlock, her small talons latching easily onto the flight armor, and scrambled up to perch on top of the spaulder.

For a moment, the nine humans merely stared at each other.

"Well," Arthur murmured at last, "I suppose this it."

Bors snorted, "Indeed."

Arthur reached out his arm to him. After a surprised moment, the Northumbrian knight clasped it.

Arthur used that hold to draw him close, "Watch out for Merlin," he muttered into the knight's ear.

Bors snorted again, but nodded, whispering back, "I do not intend to do anything but, Your Majesty."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Beside them, Merlin and Leon were having much the same conversation, although the Head Knight had bundled the warlock into a gruff hug (much to a shrilling Aithusa's indignation), "…Watch out for yourself, too, Merlin. Arthur would not handle your loss well."

Merlin snorted, but stepped back after Leon gave him a final, brusque squeeze, "Nor I, his. I ask you this, Leon, but _you_ must be careful, as well. There may soon be someone who would be rendered inconsolable were we to lose you." He glanced significantly at Gwen, who had since wrapped Percy in a tight hug, much to the large knight's embarrassment.

Leon followed his gaze…and flushed. He cleared his throat, "Merlin, I—that is, would you-"

Merlin chuckled, squeezing his arm, "I'll protect her, I promise."

Unable to find the words to express his gratitude, Leon bowed his head, reaching out to stroke a finger along Aithusa's back fin. Her shrilling faded into content warbles, almost purrs.

"…Be safe, little one," he murmured.

Aithusa nipped at him, accepting the affection.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was only as Leon boosted Guinevere onto Kilgharrah's back, the knight and the maid speaking quietly with one another, that Arthur and Merlin were able to snatch one final moment together.

"…What are you doing, Arthur?" Merlin murmured, staring a bit when his best friend motioned for him to mount, clasping his hands together with the clear intention of using them to lever him up onto Kilgharrah's back.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "What does it _look_ like I'm doing? Come _on_ , _Mer_ lin…"

Bewildered, Merlin gingerly placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder and slid one foot into the makeshift stirrup the king had formed with his hands.

A moment later there was powerful upward thrust and a rush of air. Merlin found himself neatly vaulted up and set astride the Great Dragon's shoulders.

Where he had lowered himself to the ground, to make it easier for them to mount, Kilgharrah gave a soft grunt, but otherwise did not complain.

Straightening, Arthur stepped up to Merlin's side and busied himself by tying a scrap of red cloth around the warlock's arm, just above his elbow.

Merlin started, glancing down in surprise, "Arthur…you've already _given_ me a favor."

Indeed, the first—now faded—scrap of cloth remained fastened around his right dagger's hilt, fluttering in the evening breeze.

Arthur set his jaw and finished tying off the new one, raising his head to lay a defiant glare on Merlin, "Well…maybe I _want_ everyone to know this time."

"Arthur…" Merlin began, a bit emotional. If this was how they were going to say good-bye…the warlock did not think he could handle it.

Arthur shook his head, leaning forward to press his forehead against Merlin's arm.

" _You_ are my chosen champion," he murmured. "There _is_ no one I would rather have at my side during this battle than you. Just…promise me you'll be careful. I-I wouldn't be able to bear losing you."

Merlin gently brushed back Arthur's hair, leaning down to rest his lips against his beloved friend's temple, "I will…but _you_ must promise the same."

For a few seconds, they merely stood and sat there respectively, connected only by Merlin's lips against Arthur's skin and Arthur's brow against Merlin's arm, but the king eventually nodded, forcing himself to step back as Kay joined him and Bors lifted himself up onto Kilgharrah's back, using the other knight's shoulder as leverage.

"Are we away?" he muttered, looking distinctly ill-at-ease about riding on the back of such a great reptile.

Gwen leaned down to drop a kiss on a startled Leon's cheek. Kay reached up for one, last, tight arm clasp with Bors. Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand and squeezed, locking their eyes together.

"We're away," he murmured, blue on blue conveying one final message.

_Don't forget your promise, Arthur._

_You don't, either._

Kilgharrah's body surged beneath him and Aithusa hopped about excitedly, pouncing on her Dragonlord's head. Arthur released Merlin's hand at the last possible moment, the powerful upbeat of the Great Dragon's wings launching the first raiding party into the night sky.

_TBC_


End file.
